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

by S. P. Blackmore

  The leader stared at me.

  Lord, please let me sound as stupid as I think I do. They hadn’t remarked on our appearances, which I took to mean we had escaped our little library encounter mostly unscathed.

  “You see this fence here?” one of his friends said. He rested his hand on top of it. “This means you’re not supposed to go through it.”

  Then maybe you should make it twenty feet tall instead of four, I thought.

  “She’s my dog,” I exclaimed, managing to inject some righteous indignation into my voice. “Why would I just leave her to get eaten by some zombie? What’s wrong with you?”

  Evie smiled broadly from her spot in Dax’s arms.

  “Yeah.” Tony sounded bored. “You heartless bastard. You have any idea what happens when someone threatens that dog?” He pointed at me, rather than Evie. “You want to take her into custody? Do it, please. I’m tired of chasing after her every time the dog runs off. Save my puppy, she says. Protect the puppy. Jesus fucking Christ, women don’t belong in the endtimes.”

  Thanks, Tony. He sounded pretty convincing. Had he been saving that up for a while?

  The leader finally turned his stare on Logan. “Specialist Andrews. Why didn’t you stop them?”

  Logan didn’t miss a beat: “These idiots were already halfway down the street by the time I saw them. I didn’t want to yell too much and draw the dead over.” He shrugged. “So I went after them. Didn’t take that long, and look, the fucking dog survived. No harm, no foul.”

  The soldiers glanced at each other. “We should still report it,” one of them said.

  “It’s just going to be more paperwork.” Logan paused, and then sniffed the air. “Is that weed?”

  “You can smell it?” one of them whispered.

  I sniffed at the air. I didn’t smell much, but then again, my olfactory senses hadn’t worked right since decaying flesh became a regular odor.

  Logan shook his head, the very picture of a pious authority figure. “Yeah, I fucking smell it. You used that skunk weed again, didn’t you?”

  The other soldiers mumbled affirmatives.

  “Man, I told you guys not to do that! Get the good stuff.”

  “It’s expensive,” a soldier whined.

  “So’s getting caught smoking weed on duty,” Logan said matter-of-factly. “Go back to your post and save the joint for when you’re off-duty, and no one needs to get in trouble for this.” He turned to me then, his brows knit tight together and a fierce scowl taking up the bulk of his facial landscape. “Keep the dog on the fucking leash next time, missy. I’m done chasing tail. All kinds of it.”

  “Yes, sir,” I squeaked.

  Logan saluted the soldiers, glared at us, and then stalked off toward the inhabited part of town, and perhaps his food truck.

  That left us to stare at the guards, who, if I had to be blunt, had not done a very good job of preventing us from venturing into the Quarantine Zone in the first place.

  “We should take them in,” one of them said.

  “No way, man. Logan’s right. Keller’s in a bad mood, anyway. We’ll be fucked.”

  I wondered if Keller had ever been in a good mood in his life.

  The leader of the group finally pointed in the direction Logan had vanished. “Get out of here,” he said to us. “Don’t let us catch you around here again. And stop letting your damn dog get away from you.”

  “Thanks,” Tony said. He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the plaza, Dax and his armload of golden retriever railing behind us. “What did I tell you about letting her off the leash? I wish you’d get it through that thick fucking skull of yours…”

  He kept berating me until we rounded the corner and escaped earshot of the soldiers, who I’m sure were enjoying the colorful string of insults addressed at my character.

  Finally he fell silent.

  “I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done,” I said.

  “Good thinking,” Dax said quietly, still holding onto the dog. “I don’t think I’ve seen you play the crying female card before.”

  “It’s not one of my preferred weapons.” I glanced at the sky, trying to gauge what time it might be. I was fairly sure it wasn’t yet noon, which gave me some time to scrub off the stench of the dead before I had to go to work.

  Tony slowed us to a crawl. “Is your little friend going to rat us out, Vibby?”

  “My little friend is bigger than you,” I said. “And he’d get busted, too, for helping us.”

  “Why was he there at all?”

  “He told you.” I quickened my stride, eager to jump into the shower. “Alyssa asked him to.”

  “And he came all the way out here to see what we were doing because his sister asked him to.”

  I sighed. “We aren’t the only ones who don’t like how Keller’s running things.”

  Tony’s eyelid twitched.

  “Alyssa saw Vibeke and Keller arguing about shooting that zombie,” Dax said. “And now she knows all the stuff Keller said about fixing the radio was bullshit. Keller doesn’t want to talk to the outside.”

  “And this thing with Durkee,” I added.

  “Exactly. She knows things must be crazy here. She just never had a way to confirm it.” He might have looked much more convincing if he hadn’t been clutching a squirming pile of golden fluff.

  In the apocalypse, a long time can be two weeks or a month, which is about as long as Elderwood and Hastings were out of contact. The big army base, located in Franklin, had gone dark sometime prior to that, which I figured equated to about a thousand years in the post-zombie timeline. Anyone who had lived or worked there was largely relegated to myth by now. At least, that was how I imagined any people who came after us would view pre-apocalyptic life.

  Dax set Evie back down and let her trot along beside us. “So what are we going to do?”

  “What can we do?” Tony asked. “We work and do our thing. Hammond isn’t going to show up out of nowhere, unless he’s managed to figure out teleportation.”

  I almost secretly hoped for that. If the evil stardust could bring back the dead, then certainly it could make Hammond spontaneously appear where we needed him most, right?

  Tony must have seen the look on my face, because he actually cracked a smile. “You hadn’t thought about what we’d do if we did get ahold of him, did you?”

  No, I hadn’t. I’d had some vague idea that we would figure out how to bust Gloria and Vijay out of confinement without winding up as zombie chow ourselves, but that had also involved some kind of military force backing me up. Hell, my entire fantasy rescue operation had centered around Hammond showing up in a flying aircraft carrier or something similarly terrifying, and either subduing Keller via force or a stern talking-to. We’d retrieve our friends, the city would rejoice, and no one would ever have to eat pastrami again.

  Except things never quite played out the way I hoped they would, even before the end of the world.

  Tony still expected an answer. I didn’t have one.

  We got home a few minutes later. If any of our neighbors had been watching us, they didn’t let on; we looked like we’d just taken the dog on a long walk, and had maybe rolled around in ash and dirt on top of it. I did manage to get my shower and a change of clothes, and ran all the way to work, arriving just before Lattimore could shoot me a disapproving stare. “Sorry,” I apologized. “Had trouble sleeping last night. All the yelling at the park.”

  “Better get used to it,” she said. “It keeps the peace.”

  I failed to see how purposely battling zombies could keep the peace, but I was willing to let that slide. “What’s the agenda?”

  “You missed a busy few hours.”

  She didn’t exactly speak in an accusing tone, but she obviously wasn’t happy that I’d rolled in so late. “I asked for the morning off, and you granted it,” I said.

  Lattimore nodded, her expression unchanging. “Those in the Plague Ward have taken a turn. We’re
out of antibiotics for them, so just wear your mask and don’t let them touch you too much.” She tossed me a mask and a clipboard. I managed to catch both. “All you have to do is keep them sedated and comfortable. If someone does die, you call the orderlies and get him out.”

  For a precious split second, I couldn’t say anything. Then I squeaked out, “They got worse?”

  “Much.” She shook her head and began walking away, leaving me staring after her in horror. “Much, much worse. Just keep them comfortable, Vibeke. I think that’s all we can do.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I walked into a crowd of coughing, gasping human beings, all of them pale or ash-colored, some with IVs plugged into them, others curled into fetal positions. For a few seconds I forgot to think, forgot to breathe through my little mask; there were just so many of them in such poor shape—how could this have happened in in just a day?

  Shit goes wrong real fast in a day, Vibby.

  I quickly realized this was not going to be a particularly exciting duty. Most of them were too ill to do much besides look at me beseechingly. I made a quick circuit of the tent: Alyssa was sleeping, as were about half of the other occupants. The rest were in various forms of wakefulness, ranging from stupefied stares to soft, whimpering moans.

  Just push the sedatives. Push the sedatives and keep them comfortable and keep going.

  I walked up and down the rows, taking vitals, swapping out IV bags when necessary, resting my hands on foreheads every now and then. No one was dead just yet—though most of them were just stoned enough to pass as dead if I hadn’t been looking on carefully. This must have been part of Lattimore’s great plan to keep things quiet until they passed away and could be disposed of (or snatched up by Renati). Even in these bleak times, I was pretty sure no one wanted the sick to be actively uncomfortable.

  I made two circuits of the tent. I made a point of checking the pulse on each person in there, whether they were awake or passed out.

  No one had croaked.

  No one yet, I reminded myself. Gotta be vigilant. You smashed an awful lot of ghouls this morning, Vibeke. If they have a god, I bet it’s angry at you.

  Undead gods? I needed a vacation.

  I stopped by Alyssa’s bed once I was sure no one was about to reanimate and try to eat me alive. She was stirring already; I needed to talk to her, and the only way to make sure that happened was to avoid topping off her sedative. I crouched down next to her bed and touched her hand.

  She opened her eyes and took a few seconds to focus on me. Then a weary smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “Hey,” she said. “Did Logan find you?”

  “He did. He even got the radio working for us.”

  “I’m so glad.” Her hand closed around mine, and squeezed lightly. “How did it go?”

  How much was I supposed to tell her? Nothing? Everything? Tony’s concerns over where her loyalties might lie flew right out the window; Alyssa was desperately ill, and had done her best to ensure Hastings got the help it needed—or, more specifically, that me and my friends at least got to yell for help.

  “Hammond picked up,” I said. “Elderwood seems okay.”

  Her smile broadened. “Damn. I knew they were still out there.” She turned slowly to me, each motion a definite effort. “I knew it. Something’s been going on here…something bad. Keller…there was some sketchy shit going on right before that…”

  She frowned, as if the memory had just managed to slip away from her.

  “Is Hammond coming?” she asked.

  “Don’t know. His people need help, too, and it would take so long to get here…”

  I sure as hell hoped Hammond planned on coming. This place got weirder by the minute.

  I glanced around the tent again. No immediate changes. I’d need to start another round in a few minutes.

  I looked back down at my pale, sickly friend. She’d put herself—and her brother—at great personal risk to see this done, and while I was grateful, I couldn’t quite figure out what, exactly, had motivated her. “Why are you helping us?” I asked.

  Alyssa choked back a laugh that turned into a cough. When she had composed herself, she said, “You’ve seen who’s leading us, right?”

  I had, but commenting on it in the presence of his soldiers seemed ill-advised.

  Her smile came back, albeit faintly. “He has been a complete tool since day one. He shouldn’t be running anything. He’ll kill us all before he’s done…he already has, really, with all that pastrami.”

  “Is the pastrami actually his fault, though?.”

  She closed her eyes. “In my world, yes.”

  God, what I would have given for more details. For a little bit of time to press her for more information. In less than two hours, Hammond has suggested that Keller had killed Durkee, and now Alyssa thought Keller would be the end of us all. Obviously there was more to Captain Doogie Howser than I’d imagined.

  I skimmed through my list of questions, trying to figure out which I could lob at her.

  But her fingers closed around mine and tightened before I could start firing off queries. “Vibeke…when I die, will you make sure I don’t come back like them?”

  Oh, shit. We’d just gone from mildly heartwarming to wholly disturbing in less than a second.

  “I don’t follow,” I said, even though I followed just fine.

  “I’m just saying. Don’t think I’m getting better. The doctors don’t know what we have. Two people have come back already. What you did with that bedpan…I don’t want to be a zombie dripping with shit. I have standards.”

  The questions about Hastings and Keller went right out of my head. Instead, I wanted to ask her about her life. About her favorite kind of food, and what life was like growing up with her brother, and what she’d be doing with her life if the whole zombie apocalypse thing hadn’t happened.

  You’re going to get better, I should have said. That was the proper thing to say. But I had used up just about all my lying ability on the guards this morning, and…how the hell was I supposed to lie to her? She saw what was going on. This wasn’t a private hospital room. People were dying all around her. She was one of many.

  Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, and fuck.

  “Vibeke.” She tugged at my hand.

  “Okay,” I said, just to keep her quiet and tried not to think of her being dead. You can’t die, you’re the only one I actually talk to anymore who doesn’t seem half-ready to jump off a cliff.

  “I mean it, Vibeke. I don’t want shit running down my hair!”

  She had a hell of a grip for a sick woman. My fingers ground together in her cold palm.

  “I won’t let shit run down your hair,” I said. “I won’t smack you with a bedpan.”

  “Don’t let me come back.”

  “I won’t.”

  There was only one way to make sure someone didn’t come back, and it involved something sharp or explosive through the brain. I had always wondered if someone would make that request of me—pop me before I can pop you.

  How the hell was I supposed to do that? Linger with her? Watch her die, and then cave her skull in with something?

  My stomach rumbled in familiar discomfort. Oh, hell no. I could not just vomit up pastrami onto Alyssa. She’d probably like that even less than being smacked with a bedpan.

  “Just…please don’t do it while I’m alive.” She lowered her voice. “I’m not good with pain. I’m kind of a wuss.”

  I nodded, uncomfortably aware of the huge lump in the back of my throat. “I promise,” I mumbled. “I won’t do anything until you’re gone.”

  “And no bedpans.”

  “No bedpans.”

  She released my hand. “Get going,” she said. “You look kind of green.”

  I stood up a little too fast, and got her dosed up with the next round of sedative. “Goodnight, Alyssa.”

  My thoughts twisted around in my head as I returned to my long circuit of the Plague Tent. I
f Alyssa and Logan saw what was going on with Keller, then surely other soldiers did, too. For all I knew, one stern order from Hammond might get this city back on the right track. For God’s sake, these people all bought Tony McKnight as an important officer in an equally important militia. If that wasn’t some kind of indication that Hastings needed serious help, I didn’t know what it was.

  After another loop through the tent, I had about run out of sedative. No one had come in to relieve me, so I took one last look at the crowd and then darted out the back entrance to our strange little back courtyard—and Renati’s lab.

  The good doctor himself was hunched over a microscope, staring intently at whatever was on the slide. He didn’t look up at me when I came inside. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. “Just finishing this up.”

  “It’s just me,” I said. “I need more sedative.”

  He did glance up then, his face coloring slightly. “Oh. Vibeke. I’m sorry. I thought you were…well…Lattimore.”

  I wanted to chuckle, but didn’t have it in me. Instead, I just felt a twinge of annoyance that he got to sit here and play with his scientific toys while I actually tended to the sick.

  I couldn’t bring myself to call them dying yet.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. “I could use some help in there.”

  Some of my anger must have crept into my tone. Renati’s eyes widened slightly, and he lifted his left hand up to look at his wrist. His eyes got wider. “I’m sorry. Time must’ve gotten away from me. I’ll come in with you right now.” He stood up, and then gestured to the microscope. “Do you want to have a look?”

  Sure, I looked in mysterious microscopes all the time. I walked over to him and peered through the eyepiece, and found myself looking down at a delicate fringe of silver thread dancing around.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “That would be the zombie virus.”

  I jumped back from the microscope.

  “Oh, come now. You’re already exposed. And this version is somewhat defanged.”

  I wiped my hands on my shirt, even though I hadn’t actually touched the thing. “You can defang it?”

  “To a point. I’ve slowed it down a little bit, at least in my tests. Haven’t managed to neuter it entirely. That’s next. And then we’d have to try it on people…”