Sam didn’t say anything as they took a left past locked doors and hermetically sealed hallways, and Ani followed, content in the silence. A hum grew as they wandered; the floor beneath their feet vibrated more with every step. Ani smiled at the cameras that tracked them, baleful red lights blinking as they triggered motion sensors.
The hum became a roar as they passed the room that housed the generators and main boiler. Sam slowed, running her finger down the tile as if lollygagging, though Ani knew better. Never frivolous before her death, now Sam did nothing without a purpose. As they crossed in front of the DO NOT ENTER sign over the double-doors, Sam spoke without moving her lips.
“You have to talk to Teah.”
Ani responded in kind. “About?”
“Bill. He wants to break in. Or bust her out.”
Ani snorted. “That’s retarded.” In her mind her mom’s voice scolded her for the uncharitable word. “This place is locked down harder than Guantanamo Bay. Literally.”
“She thinks he’s serious.”
Ani rolled her eyes. “Both of his brain cells will figure out it can’t be done. Just give him time to process.”
Sam’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s not thinking with his brain. Just talk to her, would you?”
Ani sighed. “Okay. I will.”
Only what am I supposed to say?
* * *
The next morning Ani sidled past Joe’s seat on the bus and plopped down next to Teah. When a shadow crossed her vision, she looked up into Lydia’s timid smile.
“Ani? Umm...I usually sit there?”
Ani didn’t smile back. “I know. Do you mind if I talk to Teah for a bit? Privately?”
“Um....” Lydia looked around the half-empty bus with wide eyes, then settled on the seat next to Mike. “Okay. I’ll be over there.”
As she moved off, Teah clacked helmets with Ani in greeting, football-style. “What’s the special occasion?”
Ani didn’t say anything as Mr. Benson finished his visual inspection of the bus, hopped off, and locked the door. The sound of the lock catching brought to mind emergency fire drills in elementary school.
Well, if this bus catches on fire, nobody’s getting out. Probably the idea.
As the bus started to roll Ani leaned in as close as their helmets would allow. “What the hell is up with Bill?”
Teah’s eyes widened, searching for an escape route. She schooled her face, too late, and said, “Nothing, why?”
“Rumor has it he’s getting some ideas. Some really stupid ideas.”
“Like what?”
Ani knew Teah would play dumb, but she tried to hide her annoyance. “Like breaking in to see you. Or breaking you out.”
Teah’s eyes drowned in guilt even as she scowled. “Who told you that?”
Ani shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Probably Tiffany. That girl’s a bitch.”
Ani opened her mouth to defend Tiffany and realized it didn’t matter. Tiffany was a bitch, but that was a distraction. “Who told me doesn’t matter, and if Tiff knows, pretty soon everyone’s going to. Is it true?”
“Someone’s just jealous that Bill and I are in love, so they’re talking shit.” Teah’s defiant stare tried to hide the lie, but her stiff expression betrayed her.
“It’s incredibly dangerous. There’s no way—”
“Bill’s smarter than you think! Nobody gives him enough credit!”
Devon’s snort from the front of the bus told Ani that Teah was speaking far louder than she should be.
Well, good. If she gives it away herself, all the better.
Ani chewed her mouth guard in frustration. “Look, I’m not insulting his intelligence. I just want to make sure he’s not going to try something....”
“Stupid?”
Ani gave up on diplomacy. She rapped Teah’s helmet with her knuckles to emphasize each word. “Yeah. Stupid, dumbass, moron, stupid.” She dropped her hand but continued her rant. “If he tries to get in here, he dies. You probably die, too. Then maybe the rest of us, if we’re stupid enough to be anywhere near you stupid idiots when you do whatever stupid thing your stupid minds have convinced you is a plan.”
Ani froze as Teah wrapped her in a hug and mumbled into her ear. “It’s not fair. Everyone else gets to be with who they love. Everyone. Everyone but me.” She quivered, almost as if she were crying.
Furious that Teah would bring fair into it after all this time, Ani patted her shoulder instead of shaking some sense into her. “We’ll find a cure, Teah. Then you can be together.”
“When?”
Ani rolled her eyes. “When we do. Until then, you have to keep Bill from doing anything stupid.”
Like asking a puppy to babysit kittens.
“I will.”
Ani pulled back and pressed the front of her helmet to Teah’s so that they locked eyes. “Promise.”
“I promise.”
By the time they got to school, Teah had recovered her composure. It was easier to do without tears, snot, sniffles, or blood. They’d all had a great deal of practice.
Chapter
14
Friday was a half day. By the time they’d bussed in, waited for everyone else to get to class, shuffled to their room, listened to the announcements, and had a fire drill—where by policy they waited until everyone else was out, then shuffled their way into the zombie yard, then waited for everyone else to go back in before being allowed back through the halls themselves—less than an hour remained. True to form, Mr. Foster spent it with the underclassmen.
Ani sat in a funk. She’d stalled on “Breakin’ a Sweat” and fought the urge to drop the project. Though self-assigned, it wouldn’t do itself, and she hated to leave a song unwritten.
As the minute hand crawled past ten forty, Mr. Foster stepped away from the underclassmen to approach Sam and Devon. After a brief, murmured exchange ended in a snort from Devon, he stepped over to Ani. She eyed the paper in his hand with trepidation, wondering what new torture Mr. Giggles had conjured from his fresh-from-the-factory teacher toolbox.
He knelt next to her and slid the paper onto her desk. “Hi, Ani.” He giggled. “I was wondering if you can do this problem.” Ani envied the pencil lines of his meticulous handwriting.
He should have to use crayon, too.
She considered the problem:
(x + 1)(2x2 + 3x + 5)
Express in simplest form.
She glanced at Devon, who glared at the back of Mr. Foster’s head, and got nothing but an eye roll for her trouble.
“Of course. We learned that in tenth grade.”
Mr. Foster sucked air through his teeth, the hissing sound punctuated by tiny spit bubbles. “Yeah, that’s the thing. I haven’t done this stuff since tenth grade. I’m a little rusty.”
She returned his expectant look with one of her own. The silence stretched from awkward to uncomfortable.
Finally, he licked his lips. “So?”
“So, what?” she asked. When he kept staring, she continued. “Yes, I can do the problem. That’s what you asked, right?”
He nodded. “Right.”
She nodded back.
He giggled. “So, prove it. Show me.”
Across the room, Devon snorted again. “She doesn’t have math with you, Mr. F.”
He spoke through teeth clenched in a frozen grin, his voice a bare murmur. “Can you please show me how to do this, so I can show them?” He jerked his head toward Teah, Lydia, and Kyle. “It’s hard enough with Kyle when I know what I’m doing.”
Ani gaped in astonished understanding; drool dribbled down her chin. “Oh, you’re asking for help. I thought you were quizzing me.” She pointed at the x. “Just multiply everything in the trinomial by each term in the binomial,” she shifted her finger to the one, “then add it all up.”
His vacant stare didn’t help his grin any. “Can you say that again?”
She did. It didn’t seem to help.
Mr. Foster flinched as Joe crouched next to Ani’s desk. Joe grabbed a purple crayon and drew a four-by-three grid. “Look, Mr. F, just make a chart....”
Ani caught herself staring at Joe without paying attention to the words. Mr. Foster nodded along to the explanation. They wrapped up two more examples, and he went back to the underclassmen.
“Wow,” Ani said. “You’re good at that.”
Joe shrugged. “It’s just a trick Mrs. Biggs taught me. No big.”
She smiled. “I didn’t mean the math. I’m good at the math, too. I meant the explanation.”
He shrugged again. “It’s not hard.”
A shadow smothered the desk. They both looked up. Mike loomed over them, the soggy leather bite guard showing through his smile, his eyes locked on Ani. She smiled back while Joe stood and patted Mike’s shoulder.
Mike didn’t budge.
“Prom.” A gurgling moan escaped his lips.
Ani’s heart caught in her throat.
Joe’s pat turned into a rub. “We don’t talk about prom, Mike.”
He scowled. “Prom. Something....” He turned his whole head to look at Devon, then turned back to Ani. The scowl intensified. “I love you.”
Ani opened her mouth and nothing came out. Devon’s furnace stare lanced into her soul. The world froze, spun, shattered.
Joe hugged Mike. “We love you, too, buddy.”
Mike smiled and returned the hug. The spell broken, Ani returned his smile. “We all do.”
The bell rang, and Ani let out an unneeded breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
* * *
Ani spent the afternoon grinding through “Breakin’ a Sweat”, only to find a half-dozen YouTube videos of people who’d beaten her to it. Well, mine’s better. Grumpy and depressed all over again, she downloaded Scriabin’s Piano Concerto No. 7, Op. 64, “White Mass” and tried to play it. Even when she thought she had nailed a part, it still just sounded like so much noise.
Russians.
Dr. Romero barged through the door at four, her arms loaded with a giant stack of papers and manila folders. She shot daggers at Ani as she dropped the pile on the coffee table, kicked off her shoes, and sat on the couch.
“What’d I do?”
Sarah smiled and closed her eyes. “No, honey, it’s not you. Just a long, long day.” She rubbed her temples. “They spent an hour and a half doing a ZV safety in-service training...and not only did they not consult Rishi or me—they used the SRO, who’s completely unqualified—they made me sit through it. Between that and DASA and FERPA and all the rest of the alphabet soup, it’s amazing anyone can do any teaching.”
Ani smirked. “You sound like Mr. Cummings.”
“Thanks.” It came out as a half-grunt.
“Anything else exciting?”
“No.” Eyes still closed, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Just this.”
“What’s that?”
“Birthday present.”
Ani looked at the date in the corner of the laptop. “My birthday was three months ago. You got me an iPad.”
“Yup. Some things take time. And convincing.”
The envelope was made out to Sarah Romero at their home address, a house Ani hadn’t seen in the better part of two years. It was from C. Herley of the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra. Can’t be tickets. She pulled out the stationery and read.
“Holy crap, Mom, I’m getting a tutor?”
Sarah opened her eyes, beaming. “Not just any tutor. Doctor Herley himself is coming every other week. He’ll start October 13th and is contracted through next September.”
Ani lurched across the room and enveloped her mother in a bear hug. Chris Herley was a master, a forty-year concert pianist, now semi-retired. Age had done nothing to slow his hands, and his recordings were unparalleled.
“Ani, you’re squishing me.”
She let up a little. “Sorry. How’d you pull this off?”
“You know the new theater in Irondequoit? It’s going to have a small hall, Herley Hall. His name, my money.”
Ani grunted. “That’s an expensive tutor.”
“Yeah. The combination of ‘good enough to tutor you’ and ‘willing to come into the zombie lab’ made for a general lack of suitable curriculum vitae. Besides, Rochester’s gotten pretty vulgar. It could use some culture.”
“True dat, yo.” Ani tried and failed to hide a smirk.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while before her mom spoke. “Honey?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
* * *
Later that night, Ani Googled Herley Hall. An ‘anonymous donor’ had given two million dollars in Chris Herley’s name to finance the construction of the concert hall, the only stipulations being ideal acoustics and the name of the hall. Two million dollars? She knew her mom had money, but not eighty-grand-a-lesson kind of money. Huh.
She cleared the search history, closed the browser, and got into the bath. Alone in the hermetic coffin, immersed in miraculous fluids that could heal her body but not her heart, a memory of Mike scowled down at her and professed his love.
* * *
Joe rubbed his arm and hip-bumped Ani by way of greeting. “All things considered, that wasn’t so bad.” He looked as ridiculous in his hospital gown as she did in hers.
She raised her eyebrows. “What wasn’t?”
“Doctor B picked me for the Phase V-I-I cure test.” He always said the Roman numerals as letters, vee-eye-eye.
“I thought it was Kyle’s turn to be guinea pig.”
“It is. Not sure why the switcheroo. Anyway,” he swept a grand gesture toward the lab’s airlock, “it’s your turn.”
“I’ll be right out.”
Ani stepped inside, submitted to the core sampler, answered Dr. Banerjee’s questions the same way she had every countless Saturday, and left. Disappointed by the Joe-less hallway, she wandered back toward home to change into real clothes. She glanced in Mike’s room on the way and found it empty. On a hunch, she back-tracked to the lab and peeked through the window into Dr. Banerjee’s office.
Mike sat on the desk, the sleeve of his hoodie pushed up to expose his forearm. He smiled his vacant smile as Dr. Banerjee finished cutting a slice of skin and put it between microscope slides. Ani ducked out of sight and headed home.
An hour later, when her mom came in, Ani whispered to her what she’d seen. Sarah froze, then set about making herself some lunch, using the motion to cover their muttered conversation.
“Tell me again.” She pulled out the peanut butter, a loaf of bread, and a jar of strawberry jam.
Ani repeated what she saw.
“We take samples all the time—”
“But this is different, mom.”
She smeared peanut butter on both pieces of bread. “I don’t see how it is.” She closed the jar.
“It’s...secret. Something about it isn’t right.”
Next came the jam. Ani used to love strawberry jam, but now her desire was nothing, not even a longing for what once was. “Doctor Banerjee has his secrets, but this doesn’t sound like one of them. I’ll check with him on Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?”
“Monday’s Columbus Day. Federal holiday. We have the day off, too. Everyone but the soldiers. Now go socialize.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Ani left grumpy. Sure, they were dead people trapped in a top-secret government facility, unholy abominations to be purified with prayer and fire, but that didn’t make them lab rats.
* * *
Ani spent Sunday and Monday losing to Devon at chess and reading up on virology. It wasn’t something she had a passion for, but she figured that given her condition it was a good idea to know as much about it as she could. Sam struggled through the material with her, for much the same reason.
“So what’s your endgame?” Sam asked.
Ani stopped biting her lip and put down the book.
“You mean, assuming a cure?”
“Yeah. Assuming a cure.”
Ani shrugged. “Pianist would be cool. Maybe a scientist or something. Maybe both.” She once dreamed of being a vet, but a few years of zombism had scoured that desire out of her. “You?”
“I’m going into medicine.” Sam chuckled. “Maybe even virology.” She beamed at Ani. “Your mother is the most inspiring person I’ve ever met.”
Ani grunted. Her memory conjured Dylan’s head evaporating in a chunky red mess when her mom pulled the trigger; he had been doomed by the virus Dr. Romero had infected him with.
“I’m serious. She’s so...driven. I’ve never met a person with more focus. And smart.” She closed her book. “So smart.”
Ani smiled. “She is that.” And ruthless. Don’t forget ruthless. “It’s hard not to feel dumb around her.”
“Doctor Banerjee, too. That guy gives me the creeps, though.”
“Mmm,” Ani said. Dangerous waters, Sam. “So where are you thinking for school?”
“John Hopkins. U of R.” She chuckled. “Harvard.”
“You talk to Mr. Murphy?”
“Yeah. He’s thinking SUNY.” She spat the word. “I don’t think so.”
“Scholarships?”
Sam shrugged. “Trying, but I don’t want to take money away from someone who could actually go.”
Ani hadn’t thought of that. “They’ll redistribute it, won’t they?”
Sam shook her head. “Probably not. It probably just goes back into their general fund.”
“Oh. That sucks.”
“Yeah. We’d be stupid not to try, though. Wouldn’t we?”
Ani didn’t think the question was rhetorical, but she didn’t have an answer, so she reopened her book.
* * *
She bumped into Joe on the way back home. He wandered down the hall with his fingertips on the wall, rapture painted on his face. When he saw her he held his hand in front of his face and rubbed his fingertips together.
“That’s amazing.”
Special Dead Page 9