Reckoning in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I want to see it.”

  “Okay,” Rocco said. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Just remember that if you change your mind, that’s okay.”

  “I know.”

  Rocco rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No, Tucci, you don’t. You’ll make it into a test.”

  She stared at him, flummoxed. She had no idea what he was talking about. “A test of what?”

  “Of whether or not you’re tough enough to take it.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it, then stopped. If she was honest with herself, it sounded like something she would do. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what she was feeling, but that would require opening a box she’d sealed shut. She opened her eyes and looked at Rocco.

  “I want to see it.”

  “I already said yes,” he said, the expression on his face suggesting that he’d somehow failed her. “Just take a little time to figure out how much energy you want to put into this before you look.”

  “Since when are you Mister Feelings?” she countered, deflecting his concern.

  Rocco shook his head, but he smiled. “You’re killing me, Tucci. You know that?” He nudged her with his elbow. “C’mon.”

  They climbed into the truck, Rocco driving, with Delilah between them. Dust kicked up from the dry, parched road, but cleared as the truck sped forward. They lapsed into a companionable silence, which she needed—at first. Her brain whirred, the sound getting louder and louder until she could barely hear. She’d thought she would feel differently if she knew for a fact that it had been Courtney. She’d thought she’d feel…calmer? Better? More sure of herself and her ability to judge threats? But she didn’t feel any of those things. Her body felt heavy and light at the same time, like it might collapse in on itself or fly apart, broken into atomic particles. Her heart twisted and her stomach churned, like a boiling pit of tar, so much that it hurt.

  “That bitch,” she hissed, the heat behind her words so hot they almost burned her mouth. “That fucking bitch.”

  She seethed, anger roiling inside her. She was so goddamn furious you could probably see it from space. Her fingers itched. She wished Courtney was still alive so she could strangle the life out of her, get medieval on her ass, and murder her. And then bring her back to life so she could do it again.

  The truck eased to a halt, followed by a soft clunk from the gearshift being put into park. A faint whirring chirped over the low rumble of the engine.

  “You okay?” Rocco asked.

  Miranda opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It was so clear in her mind, but when she tried to put it into words they got muddled and snagged on her tongue.

  “You’re pissed at her, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.” She looked at Rocco in wonder. How had he known?

  “Kinda wishing she was still alive so you could kill her yourself?”

  “Yeah,” she said again. She groped for words that felt slippery when her mouth tried to form them. Astonished betrayal cascaded through her body, making the tips of her fingers and toes tingle. “I— I fucking warned her. I told her how dangerous he was, how manipulative, and that she had to keep her guard up. I told her how violent he was, that he was a rapist, for God’s sake. I tried to keep her safe and she told him…everything.”

  “She did.”

  Tears filled Miranda’s eyes, which just pissed her off more. She wanted—needed—to stay angry as she struggled to make sense of it, because she could feel her defenses faltering. She could feel the weight of her heartache pushing against the door she’d slammed shut on losing the baby, and Mario, and everything connected to it. If she didn’t stay angry, it would get out. Delilah nudged Miranda’s shoulder with her snout. On autopilot, Miranda began to scratch the pit bull’s chest. She dashed away the tears with her free hand.

  “I… I want to kill her. I want to fucking kill her.” Rocco nodded. When he didn’t say more, she said, “Why would she do that to me?”

  Rocco’s sympathy poured across the space between them. “Because he was all the things you warned her about.”

  The truth of his words resonated in her chest like the deep buzz of an amplifier, but it didn’t help.

  “I read the journal,” he said. “Her family were really strict fundamentalists.”

  “So?”

  “She wrote about it. Men are the head of household kind of thing, supposed to lead the family, don’t let the little woman usurp your authority. They thought women were… What was the expression she used?” He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Inferior vessels. All straight from the guy upstairs. It wasn’t there before she started guarding him. It only cropped up after. I think it made her susceptible to him. If we’d known about her background, she’d never have been put on that guard duty.”

  “But that’s so stupid! Who thinks that way?”

  Rocco snorted. “A lot of people did. When there used to be a lot of people.”

  Miranda pushed her fingers against her temples so hard it hurt. Her head had begun to pound. “I warned her, and she stabbed me in the back.”

  “She did,” he said. Then, under his breath, she heard him mutter, “Better than getting stabbed in the neck.”

  Through a strangled half laugh, half sob, she said, “You’re such an asshole.”

  She felt stupid, like she’d been played for a sucker. Hurt. Discouraged. She’d tried to help Courtney, because she’d been young and pretty, which made her a target. Because she’d been a human being, and Jeremiah a monster. All she’d accomplished, in the end, was to give Jeremiah a way to hurt her and Tadpole, and Mar—

  She shoved it away. She couldn’t think about him right now, she couldn’t. She took a few shallow breaths. Her limbs felt like lead; the question she wanted to ask felt like dust filling her mouth, but she had to know.

  “Are you sure there was no one else?”

  She felt her face screw up. She couldn’t stop the tears, nor the soft sobs that followed. Rocco turned the truck off. Even more bewildering, he got out. When he reached her door, he opened it.

  “C’mere,” he said, giving her arm a tug.

  Her feet barely touched the ground before Rocco’s strong arms encircled and pulled her close. If Courtney had an accomplice they might still be here, which made LO feel unsafe. Made it feel like a minefield. One wrong word, one wrong decision…she’d never know what hit her.

  “It doesn’t look like there was anyone else involved,” Rocco said softly. She could feel the vibration in his chest when he spoke. “And if there is, I’ll find them. I promise.”

  He rested a hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair with his thumb, rocking her like she was a baby. She felt like a child in the shelter of his arms, small and vulnerable in a world that was big and frightening. Before she realized she was doing it, she said, “I don’t want to read the journal.”

  She hadn’t thought it through—at all—but once it was out, she knew it was the truth. She didn’t need a ringside seat to Jeremiah’s manipulations and lies. Didn’t need to watch him victimize Courtney, like he had so many others. Didn’t need to watch the series of events unfold that led to her baby having a heart that wouldn’t work outside her womb, and arms and legs that would have doomed him eventually. She didn’t need one more depressing thing in her life, one more thing to feel bad about when she couldn’t ignore it or drink it away. She already had more than enough. She shrugged out of Rocco’s arms, swiped at her face, and took a deep breath.

  “For what it’s worth, you’re making the right call,” he said.

  She sighed, then said, almost to herself, “It won’t change anything that matters.”

  Miranda sat with River at a table near the front of the dining hall. Rocco lingered near where people lined up when meals were served, at the front of the room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He glared at latecomers as they passed by him.

  “He looks ner
vous,” River said.

  Miranda nodded. “You should have seen the fields,” she said, lowering her voice. “They were a mess.”

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Miranda and River looked up. A tall guy stood next to the empty chair beside Miranda. He was big. Tall, with a rangy frame. He had long, kind of unkempt red hair, fair skin with freckles, and pale-blue eyes. He could be on a postcard that said, “Kiss me, I’m Irish.” Or possibly, “Run for your life, I’m a Viking.”

  “All yours,” Miranda said. She held out her hand. “I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Miranda.”

  “Sean,” he said, giving her hand a short but firm shake. “Sean Malley.”

  “Oh, you’re the mechanic,” River said.

  Sean nodded as he sat down, giving them both a smile. It was a nice one that made him look approachable. Miranda was surprised she hadn’t seen him before. With the red hair and the height, he’d be easy to pick out.

  “Guilty as charged,” Sean said. “I arrived a couple weeks ago.”

  “Always need a good mechanic,” Miranda said. “You are good, right?”

  A pink flush crept up from Sean’s neck. “Good enough.”

  He introduced himself to River. She said, “Ignore her. She’s like a barky dog that gets all waggy when you’re up close.”

  “I am not,” Miranda objected.

  River considered for a moment, an appraising look in her eye. “That’s actually true,” she said to Sean. “She’s not that nice waggy dog. She’s the standoffish, cranky one.”

  Rocco’s voice boomed across the dining hall. “Okay, folks… Let’s get started. If you can quiet down…” Rocco’s voice trailed away as the room quieted. “So, thanks for getting here on such short notice, everyone. I appreciate it.”

  He paused, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

  “As you know, we lost some crops when the sound defenses failed during the attack a few months back. We’ve also had a bad year with pests and a blight on the potatoes. Between all of it, right now I estimate we’ve got a seventy-five percent crop failure.”

  Gasps echoed from one side of the room to another, and a low murmur began.

  “Did you say seventy-five percent failure?” a voice called from the back.

  Rocco patted at the air in front of him, trying to quiet the murmur, which was getting louder. When it subsided, he said, “Yes. Seventy-five percent failure, which means we’re looking at a food shortage.”

  Questions started coming from all directions.

  “What about P-Land?”

  “How much do we have in our stores?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Hold on, everybody,” Rocco said, raising his voice again. “I can’t answer your questions when you’re all talking over each other.”

  Again, the crowd quieted—kind of.

  “P-Land has already said they’ll help us. They lost about thirty percent of their crops, too. I’ve got a commitment that includes feed for all the livestock through next spring. You all know how things work here,” he said, his gaze sweeping to take in everyone. “We may get hungry, but P-Land won’t let us starve. They know we’d do the same if the situation were reversed.”

  He let the words hang for a few beats, just to drive the point home. “That said,” he continued. “We’ve got two months’ worth of food in storage if we don’t change anything. We’re going to have to cut back on how much we eat at meals. And,” he said, patting at the air again and raising his voice. “We’re gonna have to start sending out scouting parties to look for food.”

  That caused a stir and more shouted questions. Rocco did his best, acknowledging that the scouting would be dangerous because of how far they’d need to travel to find anything, and that yes, a lot of what they found would be expired.

  River muttered under her breath, “Who worries about that? Canned food lasts for decades.”

  Miranda shrugged. She didn’t get it either.

  “What about the new people?” someone called out.

  “What about them?” Rocco said.

  People were craning their necks, trying to see who had asked the question. Miranda felt the eyes of the people around her table shifting and sliding to Sean, then away. A man stood up in the back. Miranda only knew him to see him.

  “People are coming for the vaccine, Rocco, and now you’re telling us there’s not enough food for those of us who already live here. What are you planning to do about new people?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” Rocco said, not looking glad at all. “We’re going to do what we’ve always done here at LO. We’re going to welcome them, and work it out.”

  Miranda could feel an undercurrent of fear zip through the room as people began to shout more questions. If Rocco didn’t get this back on track fast, the community was going to end up more fearful than the situation warranted. Things were unnerving, even scary, but there was no reason to panic yet.

  “Look,” Rocco said. “It’s been a rough couple months, and the hits just keep coming. I get it.” He paused, then said, “If Commander Smith was still alive, what would she be telling you right now?”

  Heads began to nod, and the last bit of worried murmuring faded away.

  “That right,” Rocco said. “She’d be telling you exactly what I’m telling you. This is serious; I’m not trying to say it’s not. But we have a way of doing things here, and it’s not to tell people to come, and then send them away to fend for themselves because circumstances have changed. That’s not who we are. When new people get here for the vaccine, this is what I’m gonna tell them.”

  As he spoke, he ticked his points off on his fingers. “A, that the vaccine is being produced, but it’s getting back-burnered to an extent, because B, we’ve got a food shortage. And C, we want them to stay, which includes helping scout for food to the extent they’re able. That doesn’t mean everyone in every group of newcomers will become the scouts. We’re not shifting this onto the new people so we don’t have to do it. It means volunteers, a small number of them. Just like the volunteers among all of us…just enough people to make this work.”

  “He pulled that out of his ass,” Miranda said softly. “I was a little worried.”

  River nodded.

  “I know you still have a lot of questions, and I want to hear them. I might not always have an answer,” he said to a sprinkling of chuckles. “But I know we can do this. We just have to stay calm and remember that we’re only as strong as our commitment to one another.”

  Rocco wrapped the meeting up and was immediately mobbed. Sean had wrapped his arms around himself, and his mouth was turned down in a worried frown.

  “It’s shitty, I know,” she said to him. “But we’ll work it out.”

  Sean nodded, forcing a smile. “Sounds like it. It’s just…”

  “You’re new here.”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  River said, “I’ve been at LO almost from the beginning, Sean. You have nothing to worry about. We’ve had ups and downs before. Not quite like this, but we’ve stayed the same when it comes to what this community cares about. You might run across a jerk here or there, but we do want newcomers here. We always have. Please don’t worry about that. And if there’s a problem, tell Rocco, or one of us. He’ll want to know.”

  “Thanks,” Sean said, giving her a smile. He stood and said, “Nice meeting you both. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  “Where’d they put you?” Miranda asked. “The apartments?” When he nodded, she said, “We’re both in the housing plan, by the Big Woods. We’ll see you around.”

  As Sean disappeared into the crowd, River said, “I’ve got to go check on Veronica.”

  “Is it going okay?”

  River nodded and stood, then pushed in her chair. “As well as a first pregnancy with twins can. I only came over because I knew this wouldn’t be a long meeting.”

  “Tell her good luck, okay?”

  “Will do.”
/>   Miranda threaded her way through the people still milling around the dining hall. The level of agitation was a lot lower than she’d expected, though she had a feeling Rocco might be detained for questioning for the rest of the month. It had been smart to bring up Commander Smith. She wasn’t just a former commander whom people had trusted and respected. She was as close to a martyr as LO would ever have.

  Miranda took a deep breath as she exited the building, the evening cool. Rocco was right about one thing; this crisis would put LO to the test. She looked back at everyone still gathered in the dining hall, the glowing windows making them look cozy and friendly, instead of scared.

  I hope we’re up to this, she thought.

  3

  She was so tired. She could barely keep her eyes open. Miranda looked around the dim room, the only light coming from the small solar-powered lamp by the crib. She decided to try one more time to crawl into bed, but as soon as she did, the baby began to cry again.

  “Omigod, kiddo…”

  She dragged herself off the bed, almost stumbling as she took the few steps to the crib. By the time she reached him, his little face was screwed up tight, red, and angry. She reached down and checked his diaper, but it was dry.

  “Are you hungry again?”

  He hadn’t eaten well earlier; maybe that was it. She picked him up, holding his tiny body to hers, his soft baby smell filling her nostrils. She settled into the gliding rocker beside the crib, putting her feet on the matching footrest. Whoever had designed these things had been a genius.

  She held the baby in the crook of her arm as she unbuttoned the top of her nightgown. She hadn’t worn a nightgown since she was a girl, but tee shirts weren’t easy to nurse in, and nursing while nude felt weird. Already, she could see milk leaking from her nipples. She nestled him against her breast, smiling at how he was already turning his head toward it. He latched on immediately and sucked hard, grunting like a piglet.