Grave New World (Book 3): Dead Men Don't Skip

by S. P. Blackmore

  I trailed off when just about every face in the room—soldiers included—turned to look at me. Rule number ten of the zombie apocalypse, if you’re keeping track, is never to let a bunch of military officers carrying guns focus their attention on you.

  Too late now.

  “Is that so?” Lattimore asked.

  I’d already put the noose around my neck, so I decided I’d just keep tightening it. “Renati said—”

  “I don’t want to hear anything about Renati,” Keller growled. “Not one fucking word.”

  “But the virus—”

  “She wasn’t bitten,” the other medic said. Did he look smug? Whatever expression he wore on his face was pretty fucking smug. “You need to get bitten to die.”

  Lattimore’s grim expression briefly cracked, revealing a mixture of exhaustion and resignation. “No, Gerald,” she said with a sigh, “you don’t. An untreated bite certainly speeds things along, but anyone who dies eventually comes back. Perhaps you aren’t paying much attention, either.”

  Gerald the medic gaped at her. So did I. Once Samuels had figured out for sure that people reanimated regardless of a zombie love nip, he had done his best to ensure word spread quickly. Granted, Elderwood had come under attack almost immediately afterward, so I had no idea how successful his campaign had been.

  I wondered how long had it taken Hastings to figure this out. The medical complex was swarming with the sick and the injured, and I’d simply assumed they just had people regularly dying. But if their own medical staff didn’t realize that everyone came back…

  Yep. We’re in Crazy Town. Or at least Terrible Communication Town.

  “The real question is why Orvik wasn’t doing her job,” Lattimore said.

  Oh, so we were back to taking potshots at me. I swung around to stare at Logan, who looked remarkably unrepentant in all of this. “How about we ask where the fuck your guard dog was, and why a medic had to do the dirty work?”

  Keller clenched his hand into a fist and came toward me. I braced myself to duck, fully expecting him to finally take a swing at me.

  Instead, he stopped a few inches away. “Get out.”

  I didn’t move.

  “I said get the fuck out!”

  His voice could have knocked the tent over. Alyssa pulled her blanket over her head.

  Let it not be said that I don’t know when it’s time to vacate a situation. I booked it out of there like Indiana Jones fleeing the giant boulder.

  As far as I know, they never did find out who the arm belonged to.

  I had scarcely gotten into the back courtyard when two hands seized my upper arm and gave me a yank.

  I opened my mouth to yelp, and one of the hands released me long enough to clamp over my mouth. Okay, not a revenant, than. I turned my head and saw Renati standing there, his shaggy brows lifted in something resembling a plea.

  I nodded.

  He released me and jerked his head toward his lab. I glanced over my shoulder, but no one seemed to be following me out of the Mystery Ward, so I trailed after him.

  He only flicked on the lights when the door closed. “I prefer to work in darkness,” he explained. “Keeps the rest of them from trying to talk to me too much.”

  Yeah, I could see why. Microscopes were placed at seemingly random intervals along counters and islands. Laptop computers, most of which looked dead, were set up next to most of them. Renati had an assortment of X-rays and other printouts taped to the walls, and pieces of paper seemingly stuck to the floors. In the light, it was a hoarder’s paradise. In the dark…well, I wouldn’t want to try navigating it in the dark, much less talking to the man who had cultivated it.

  “It adds to my mystique,” he said, upon noticing me looking around. “Want a granola bar?”

  He reached for something on one of the countertops. I had taken them for a stack of disks of some sort, but they were in fact snack bars, and he tossed one to me. I caught it out of reflex and stuck it in my pocket.

  “How’d you get granola bars?” I asked.

  “I have my methods.”

  Oh, great. More mysteriousness.

  He found two stools and removed stacks of paper from both, then gestured to one. I drifted over, but did not sit. He shrugged and plunked himself down on the other anyway. “Welcome to R&D, for what it’s worth,” he said. “This is where I cultivate my creepy persona.”

  I sort of smiled. He still seemed more normal than he had the last time we talked. Maybe he kept the granola bars around to regulate his blood sugar.

  “I heard Lattimore and our dear captain giving you the rundown in there,” he said.

  “Then you also heard me quoting you.”

  “I did.”

  Maybe he had dragged me here so he could yell at me, too. “Are you going to get into trouble?”

  He shrugged and pressed a foot against the ground, spinning the stool around in slow circles. “It’s nothing I haven’t tried to tell everyone at this damned facility at one point or another. You’re just the first one to listen.” He paused in his spinning to smile at me. “And the first to parrot it back to them. They couldn’t have liked that.”

  Oh. He’d probably brought me over here because he wanted someone to actually listen to him. Marvelous. “Doctor, I think maybe—”

  “In the beginning, it took them some time to wake up after they…ah…expired,” he said. “At least, that we know of. Those close to impact sites were generally immolated immediately. But those outside…I do wonder if they got up earlier, and it just took them longer to reach us.”

  “Does it matter? They’re here.”

  “They are here. But shouldn’t we learn as much about them as possible?”

  How the fuck do I wind up working for all the mad scientists? He and Samuels would get along brilliantly. They could spend all day talking about zombie biology.

  He folded his hands in his lap, though he kept twiddling his fingers. “We had to abandon Behrens Memorial because we kept storing the dead unbitten in the basement so they could be cremated. Or used to craft a vaccine. That’s what I wanted to do.”

  Storing a bunch of dead bodies together is generally inadvisable when reanimation is a possibility. “And they all got up around the same time?”

  The thumb-twiddling halted.

  “We had a situation in Elderwood. When I left.” I paused, trying to summon words without imagining the shambling dead figures that were usually attached to them. “A lot of people died at camp, for a lot of reasons. And of course they found a lot of dead people, too. Hammond cremated the ones that had been bitten, and I think some of the dead when he could…but we also had a dumping ground a few miles out of camp. By the time we realized everyone came back, even if they weren’t bitten, it was too late. The dead were on their way…”

  And Camp Elderwood, that beacon of safety and civilization, had gone down in flames.

  At least, I feared it had.

  Renati nodded, and reached across the counter. He plucked an orange container of pills from the stacks of paper, popped off the top, and shook a pill into his hand. He tossed it into his mouth and swallowed it, then re-focused his attention on me. “I’ve tried to keep records on when people die versus when they reanimate. Lattimore won’t permit me to do much. Someone dies, she wants them out. Gone. Bad for morale to leave dead bodies lying around, she says.”

  I honestly couldn’t fault her on that one.

  “Obviously I can’t bring one in here to watch; I’ve got no way to restrain it when it comes back. And I can’t really take them anywhere else—the soldiers brain them as soon as they’re removed. Or burn them, on cremation days.” He paused, letting me absorb that. No wonder Hastings hadn’t had a mass reanimation—if they burned most of their dead, they wouldn’t need to worry about it. “But I have noticed, just on my own time, with the handful they’ve let me study, the hours between the gloomy shade of death and reanimation decreasing.”

  I nodded.

  He
passed the pill bottle from one hand to the other. “I’ve also looked at the blood of those who reanimated earlier and those who went later. I have looked at blood from the dead that run versus those that merely stagger. And there are subtle differences in the blood and tissue of those that run, I suppose.” He leaned toward me. “Does that make sense? Explaining it in laymen’s terms is…challenging.”

  “Sort of,” I said. “The blood is different depending on what a, uh, revenant can do.”

  “Yes. Exactly. So whether or not our fair Captain Keller agrees, the virus is changing. Or has always been changing. If we see zombies that run and think, however infrequently, why would we not see zombies that rise sooner?”

  My poor, pastrami-laden stomach swirled around uneasily. Renati was clearly pleased to have an active listener—or at least someone who wasn’t telling him where to shove his research. I hoped he wasn’t about to poach me from Lattimore.

  Or maybe I did want that. Maybe I’d be a better research assistant than a medic.

  Renati paused for air, then plunged on ahead. “I’ve managed to halt certain aspects of the virus, at least in experiments. My predecessor had a great deal more research than myself, but Lattimore doesn’t want it addressed. She trashed what she could find of his work.” He reached under another group of papers, extracted a granola bar, unwrapped it, and took a bite. After a moment of chewing, he swallowed and chased it with a bottle of water. “She wants us to focus on those who are still there. The living. The dead rise, it’s terrible, that’s enough for her. She’s adapted it as just one more thing we have to worry about. There’s no way to stop them, so we learn to live with them. Like insurance companies.”

  I frowned. “Lattimore was the first to break the news. I saw her on television…why would she want you to stop?”

  He started laughing. “That television gig was the easiest job she ever had. What was there to figure out? The dead got up and got hungry. She told us the truth, took a stab at what might cause it, and then threw herself into helping the people who could still be helped. Besides, I’m sure she’s tired of being the early face of the apocalypse.”

  I hadn’t even thought of that, but it had merit. When I first saw her, I’d immediately remembered her segment with Gloria Fey. Probably at least half the people she treated did the exact same thing.

  “She’s a fine physician,” Renati said. “And she’s doing her best. But I still need to do my own research, and see what we can do to lick this thing before it takes more of us out.” He set the half-eaten granola bar on the desk.

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  He seemed to not have answer for that at first. Then he shrugged. “You’re listening. And I’m listening to you, even if our great leaders are not. I’m trying to figure out a way to put a stop to this, even if they don’t want to allow it.”

  The optimistic part of me would have said Well, that’s something. But in truth, I couldn’t find it in myself to care anymore. Giving a shit about my patients and protecting them from a revenant had gotten me into trouble with the fucking leader of the city. Why should I care? I should just put my head down and do my work as Lattimore so clearly wanted me to.

  “What’s it like out there? Outside.”

  He said it in a reverential way, as if no one in Hastings had ever set foot outside their fancy new wall. As if the world out there were some great mystery to be plumbed.

  What could I even tell him? Well, Doc, we’ve got biker gangs and acid rain and God knows what else.

  “The dead,” he said. “Are they all over?”

  Oh. He wanted to talk about the zombies.

  “It’s shitty out there,” I said. “You have a really nice thing going with this wall.”

  “They get in anyway. They’re all over the other side of the city.” He stared down at the papers scattered across his desk, his expression grim. “How many of them run now?”

  I shrugged, trying not to instantly imagine one of them rushing me. “Some of them are fast. Not many, but some.”

  He looked at me. “And have you seen them think at all?”

  “Think?” Why would he ask me that, if he hadn’t seen it himself? In my mind’s eye I could see the flat, calculating stares on some of the dead. I wouldn’t exactly call them smart, but a handful did seem to possess a basic intelligence of some sort.

  I tried to keep my expression flat and uninterested, but he was watching my face, and I knew I’d already given away something of my distress.

  “You’ve seen them, haven’t you?”

  I folded my arms against the sudden chill. “I wouldn’t call them thinkers. But there’s a—there’s something—cunning, I guess, about them. It’s weird.”

  It’s weird. I really wasn’t going to win any awards for description anytime soon.

  I no longer wanted to debate any of this. “I should get back to work,” I said, even though the idea of going back to the Plague Tent made me a little nauseated.

  “Don’t bother. They won’t want to see you for the rest of the day.” He pointed toward the lab door. “Go home. Assuming you don’t get a notice indicating you’re fired tonight, you can just come back tomorrow morning.”

  “I could be fired?”

  He smiled at the note of hope in my voice. “Doubt it. We need qualified medics more than Keller needs to make an example of you. You’ll probably be stuck in the Mystery Tent, though. Or the Plague Ward. Whatever name we settle on next.”

  Great. Mystery illnesses and a chatty mad scientist. Just how I wanted to spend my post-apocalyptic employment.

  Back outside, the chill bit into my bones. I was so damn tired of everything—at least in the jail cell I’d been able to sleep a lot. And outside the city, in the open, I had the added benefit of assuming everyone and everything was out to get me and do horrible things to my insides.

  Here, behind Hastings’s big, strong wall, not everyone wanted to make me into a meal or a prisoner. And those who did might hide behind rank or kind words.

  Son of a bitch.

  I had survived the zombie apocalypse only to get mired down in office politics.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As it turned out, there was one more person who wanted to ream me out that day.

  Since I had walked home alone, I spent most of my afternoon lounging around the house, reading old magazines and trying to distract myself from the shitstorm I felt myself tipping into. Dax arrived in the early evening with our full order of pastrami and set it on the table, then paused and turned to me.

  “The captain asked to see Tony,” he said. “After you left.”

  Oh, great. I could imagine how that had gone.

  The two of us ate alone that night. We were halfway through our meal when we heard the front door unlock and open. A moment later it slammed hard enough to make our water bottles rattle. Evie leaped to her feet and ventured toward the kitchen doorway. Her tail wagged hesitantly, then paused as Tony’s limping steps brought him to us.

  He stood there and stared at me, the rage on his face unmistakable.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded. “You shouldn’t make enemies of people with guns.”

  Tony. Tony of all people was going to get after me for trying to put down a revenant? Things had utterly turned on their heads if that were the case.

  “Not you, too,” I groaned.

  “There are rules we live by, Vibeke!”

  Rules? When the fuck had Tony McKnight ever given a shit about rules? But as if to punctuate his newfound obedience to the law of the land, he picked up a water bottle and hurled it across the room. It struck a wall and the cap popped off, precious water spilling everywhere.

  The dog hid under the table.

  Rather than scare me, it just fueled by growing anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you? A woman died and got back up within an hour. No one else is worried about this?”

  I did not ask What if they ALL start turning faster and faster? That was still
too awful to comprehend.

  He stared at me, the open hostility in his face a strange new thing. Last time I’d seen him this mad, our publisher had decide to cut advertising budgets again.

  “You were wrong,” he said, the voice sliding from his lips as alien to me as this entire situation. “You fucked up. You were wrong, and if you get us thrown out of here…”

  I seized upon the implied threat. “You’ll what? What will you do, Tony? Do share.”

  “No, don’t share,” Dax said. “Let’s not share that.”

  Tony snatched my arm too quickly for me to get out of the way. I heard Dax bellow, heard a chair go over as he stood up quickly. Then Tony was dragging me from the kitchen, out into the main entryway. We were outside and in the rapidly falling dusk by the time Dax caught up to us.

  I only saw the blur of his hair as he slammed into Tony, who released me as he went over. The two of them landed heavily on the walkway, sending up clouds of ash. The dog came racing out a moment later, letting out a broken string of short, high-pitched barks nearly tinged with a whine. I had never heard her like this.

  Like she’s crying.

  “Stop it,” I said, not quite believing I was watching this unfold. Tony shoved Dax off him and tried to leap to his feet, but his bad leg only let him scramble.

  Dax yanked him back down.

  “Stop it! You are fucking idiots! Stop it!”

  They both paused.

  Evie whimpered pitifully and then rushed to the pair of them, nosing each one here and there and generally getting in between the two.

  “You are upsetting the dog,” I said.

  Dax sat down hard on the front walk and rubbed behind her ears. “It’s okay, little girl. It’s okay…”

  This time, Tony managed to get to his feet. He paused to steady himself, arms outstretched in case the leg gave way.

  Then he turned around and limped away from our house.

  “And he never came back,” Dax muttered.

  For the love of God, weren’t we past being drama queens about all this? I started after Tony, ignoring the bite of cold air on my bare arms and swiftly closing the distance between us.