Damage in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  Rocco squeezed Miranda’s shoulder, smiling broadly. “You kill me, Tucci. You really do.” Then his voice dropped low, and he leaned closer. “But Doug, being a priest? He doesn’t look too serious about it.”

  Miranda looked at Doug and Skye again, feeling kind of stunned in the way one does when their alcohol-infused brain is slow to process information.

  “Lots of people here care about Skye,” Rocco continued. “Are protective after what Brock put her through. Doug better watch his step.”

  In the flickering candlelight, Miranda could almost see an embryonic something flutter between them. She had known Doug before he became a priest, even liked one of his girlfriends enough to consider her a friend. Before a zombie bit her… That had sucked. The girlfriend after had disliked Miranda, but Miranda had not liked her, either.

  “It’s a crush.” She paused. “If it’s anything.”

  She could not remember Doug ever having a crush this obvious, though. He was a priest, but he was still a man and not blind. And Skye really was stunning.

  It had to be a crush. But she’d never seen him so…what the hell was it? She peered at him intently. He must have felt it because he looked her way.

  “Having fun, Miri?” Doug said, raising his voice.

  “Yep,” she said.

  “Good.”

  He winked at her, then looked back at Skye. The corners of his mouth quirked up to form the tiniest Mona Lisa smile, but the way it lit up his face…

  Enchanted.

  That was what it was. She had never seen Doug so enchanted by anyone.

  Miranda leaned back against the cushions and took a deep swig of beer. Rocco’s head had fallen back, and his breath sighed in and out just shy of a snore.

  Rocco was right. Doug would be wise to watch his step, but she was afraid it might be too late for that.

  15

  Mario looked at the street sign and sighed.

  “I’m going in circles.”

  The problem with places like this cookie-cutter pre-apocalyptic housing plan that LO had annexed was that everything looked alike. The houses and townhouses were all painted the same colors and similar to one another. Worse yet, the names were variations of the same thing: Audubon Street, Audubon Way, Starling Place, Sparrow Whatever. It was not as bad as Atlanta had been, where everything was a variation of peach tree, but couldn’t they have come up with names that were more distinct from one another?

  “The urban planner who approved these street names was probably a day away from going postal,” Mario muttered.

  “Are you lost?”

  Mario looked up from the slip of paper at the question. A raven-haired woman with dark eyes, bronze skin, and broad, high cheekbones had walked up behind him.

  “Yeah. I am,” Mario confessed. He held out his hand. “I’m James, James Gideon.”

  “River Swifthawk,” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m the doctor around here. And you’re new.”

  “Kind of… I’m trying to find where Miranda Tucci is staying.”

  River’s eyes lit up. She looked at him with renewed interest.

  “Oh. You’re that James. You’re at the Institute with Doug Michel. I’ve heard about you.”

  “All bad, I take it?”

  River laughed. “Nah, she’s crazy about you. I met Doug when he was here a few weeks back. That guy can spin a yarn. I haven’t laughed that much in ages.”

  “Doug’s stories are always hilarious,” Mario said.

  “I’m on my way to my house. It’s just down the street from Miranda. I’ll walk you that far and point you in the right direction.”

  Mario fell in beside River, matching her brisk pace. “Do you mind me asking what your ethnicity is? With your last name, I’m assuming Native American?”

  River smiled. “I’m three-quarters Northern Paiute. The rest is European mutt.”

  “That’s the southeast part of the state?”

  “Very good,” River said, looking impressed.

  “I did two years as a JV after graduating college. One was at a residential middle and high school on the Pyramid Lake Reservation.”

  “Pyramid Lake? That’s the middle of nowhere. What’s a JV?”

  “Jesuit volunteer. That’s what they called people who served in the Jesuit Volunteer Corp. It was sort of like the Peace Corp but Catholic, and here in the States.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Helped the teachers in the classrooms and the kids with their homework and college applications. Made sure they went to bed on time and brushed their teeth, ate their breakfast, spoiled the homesick kids a little. Broke up a few fistfights. That sort of thing.”

  “A do-gooder from a young age,” she said. “Hush-hush research is right up your alley, then.”

  Mario looked at her sharply. His work was not supposed to be common knowledge.

  “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “Anna, the commander, filled me in. Broad strokes only, in case my services are needed.”

  “I have no comment.”

  “Anna will like that, James, even though you only confirmed it.” She pointed ahead. “You’re taking a right at the corner.”

  Ahead, Mario could see what had originally been the plan’s main entrance, now blocked by the palisade. When they reached the corner, River stopped and pointed at the house across the street.

  “My office is in that house. I live there, too, in case you need the services of an endocrinologist turned general practitioner. Front door is always open, and my office is the first room on the left.” She turned right and pointed up the street. “Miranda’s in the third building up on this side, the left side townhouse. Nice to meet you, James.”

  “Nice to meet you as well,” Mario said, shaking her hand again. He gestured around them, “And thanks for rescuing me. It all looks the same.”

  “I know,” River said. “We really need to fix that.”

  There was no answer to his knock, so he tried the door. Unlocked. He stepped across the threshold, the doorknob still grasped in his hand.

  “Miri?” he called out.

  He pulled the door behind him, then heard a bark and a descending thumping on stairs. A moment later, Delilah appeared at the far end of the hallway. She barked again, tail wagging like crazy, and headed for him like a high-speed train. Ran into him like one, too.

  “Oh, man, Liley,” he said. “Maybe I should bring you back with me. You’d barrel right through that roadblock I can’t seem to get past.”

  After sufficient jumping, zoomie circles, warbles, pets, licks, and belly rubs had been completed, Mario kicked off his boots. He dropped his pack and jacket, leaving everything in the entryway. He followed Delilah down the hallway. Miranda did not seem to be home, because Delilah had definitely made enough noise to alert her. Strange that she would leave the dog behind, though.

  Delilah waited for him at the bottom of the stairs, then raced up them. When he did not follow quickly enough, she darted back down, barked at him again, and cocked her head as if to ask, are you coming or not?

  “Okay, I’m coming.”

  He followed the dog up the stairs, across the landing, and poked his head into the room directly opposite the stairs that Delilah had disappeared into. Miranda lay on a chaise lounge near a window, dead to the world. A lined notebook and a maroon pencil were on the floor below her arm that dangled over the chaise lounge’s side. He recognized Miranda’s tight, neat handwriting on the pages.

  How did she sleep through that racket? Mario wondered.

  Delilah nudged and licked Miranda’s hand.

  “Liley, no,” Mario whispered.

  He hurried over to Delilah, quietly shushing the excited pit bull so that she would not wake Miranda. If Miranda was sleeping, then she must be tired. Barring illness, she had never been much of a napper.

  Except since we arrived in Portland, he thought.

  He had attributed it to being so seasick on the journey here and needing time to rebound, but worr
y began to niggle at him. What if she was sick? Like something really wrong with her sick? He planned to be here a few days, so he would pay attention and see for himself, he decided. He had already met the doctor. Perhaps he could enlist her aid if necessary. Miranda was terrible about admitting she was ill. She seemed to regard illness as a moral failing. Or maybe it was just that it made her feel more vulnerable.

  Just as he caught Delilah’s collar and gently closed his hand around the dog’s snout, Miranda stirred and opened her eyes. When she saw him, her eyes opened fully, and a smile spread across her face.

  “When did you get here?” she asked, her voice heavy with sleep.

  He did not answer right away. He was too busy noticing that the cornflower blue of her eyes was so much brighter than the usual shades of blue. The way her freckles spattered across her nose was more charming for his having missed them, and her lips positively cried out to be kissed.

  He dropped to his knees beside her. “Just now.”

  “Rock climbing, huh?” he said. “Not sure I’d be any good at it.”

  Mario pulled Miranda’s hand into his pocket as they walked, shoulders hunched against the damp Northwest winter breeze. Her hand felt like a block of ice inside his, even through his gloves. Miranda had elevated losing non-leather gloves to an art form, and he had never been able to figure out how she did it, nor how to help her hold on to them. In Northern California it had not mattered so much, but the winters were a lot colder here.

  “Like Mathilde said, false modesty does not suit you, James,” she said, nudging him with her elbow.

  “You’re learning from the best, according to Doug.”

  Miranda nodded. “What has he said about her?”

  “Not much,” Mario answered, trying to remember anything that Doug had said that stood out. “He thinks she’s cool, though. He didn’t say so, but I can tell. Why?”

  “No reason,” Miranda said. “He’s just kinda fanboy about the famous rock climber.”

  They emerged from the narrow band of trees that separated the housing plan from the campus of the former St. Mary’s Home for Boys. Wider, more manicured lawns and vegetable gardens surrounded buildings arranged in a semi-circle. Institutional buildings, but nice. Soft light from lanterns studded the building windows, but one had a lot more along the ground floor.

  “That’s where we’re going,” Miranda said, pointing to the well-lit building.

  As they got closer, Mario could see people in twos and threes entering the building. They stepped onto the path, which crunched beneath Mario’s feet, and joined the procession.

  When he pulled the door open, the smell of garlic, tomatoes, and thyme almost knocked Mario over. A loud gurgle emanated from Miranda’s stomach.

  “Was that you or me?” she asked.

  “You,” he answered. “How could you not tell?”

  She didn’t answer, just smiled, as they walked into a large dining hall with long, crowded tables.

  “You’re in for a treat,” Miranda said, sounding excited as they got in line to get their food. “That’s Rocco’s sauce. It’s amazing.”

  As they exited the line and began to look for somewhere to sit, Mario recognized Rocco, who had accompanied him and Doug to P-Land. Rocco stood by a table on the far side of the dining hall.

  “Tucci,” Rocco called, waving his hand. “Saved a seat for you.”

  “Hey, James!”

  Mario turned around. Alicia, his research partner, waved. A man joined her, and she smiled at Mario.

  “Enjoy the pasta,” she said, laughing.

  Mario tried not to outwardly cringe at the horrible screech of Alicia’s cackling laughter. The only downside to working with her was her laugh, which always grated against his aural senses like baby bunnies being tortured. Judging from the flinches, squints, raised shoulders, and swiveling heads around him, he was not the only one. Alicia was either oblivious to the effect her laugh had on everyone around her, or lacking the ability to do anything about it, just didn’t care. Mario was pretty sure it was the former, not that latter. Alicia was too sweet to not care, especially if she was doing something that made others uncomfortable.

  Mario followed Miranda to their seats. They set their carb-overloaded plates of spaghetti and crusty white bread at the places Rocco had saved for them.

  “Heard you had a visitor,” Rocco said to Miranda. “How you keeping these days, James?”

  “You guys are worse gossips than at home,” Miranda said, but her smile belied her protest. She looked at River as she sat beside her, then to Mario. “Have you met River yet?”

  Mario nodded. “We’ve met. I’d still be looking for your place if she hadn’t saved me.”

  “He was close, but he was clueless,” River said.

  Mario twirled the spaghetti onto his fork and took a bite. An explosion of savory flavor filled his mouth. Miranda had not been exaggerating. Rocco’s sauce was amazing. When he had finished the bite, Mario looked across the table to Rocco.

  “This is better than my nana’s sauce.”

  “Bite your tongue!” Rocco said, looking scandalized. “You never say that about your nana’s sauce, even if it’s true!”

  “I’m the oldest grandson,” Mario replied.

  Understanding dawned in Rocco’s dark eyes.

  “Oh. Well, you’re forgiven anything then, since you could do no wrong as far she was concerned. And you have better manners than your girlfriend. You savor the fruits of my culinary skill.” He pointed his fork across the table at Miranda. “She eats like she’s never seen food.”

  It was true. Mario had taken five bites in the time it took Miranda to almost clear her plate.

  “Don’t food shame me,” Miranda said around a mouthful of spaghetti.

  Skye plopped into the seat beside Rocco. “Who’s shaming who?” she asked cheerfully.

  “Rocco says I eat too much,” Miranda said without missing a beat.

  “Miranda, you eat more than anyone I’ve ever seen,” Skye said. “More than me when I was competing. And you wolf it down like you’re starving.”

  Laughter drowned out Miranda’s protests before she left to get seconds. Rocco heckled her retreating form until she flipped him off.

  Mario shook his head. “She’s got a good appetite, but until just now, I’ve never seen Miranda eat anything that fast.”

  “I don’t believe you,” River said. “The woman can eat.”

  “And sleep!” Rocco said. “How can anyone take so many naps?”

  “She’s napping?” Mario said. “Like regularly?”

  “Don’t go covering for her,” Skye said. “Because this one,” she elbowed Rocco, “gave me an earful when she slept through helping him with the garden a few weeks back. Like it was my fault or something.”

  “I had five hundred onion and garlic starts. I needed the help! And I knew you’d see her later and deliver the message, especially since you were Miss Crabby Pants,” Rocco said. He looked at Mario and said, sotto voce, “Skye was cranky that day…that time of the month, if you know what I mean.”

  Skye rolled her eyes. “What are you, fourteen?”

  “But she got real cheerful when Father Doug showed up,” Rocco added.

  Skye choked on her drink. Between coughs, she said, “So were you when he invited us all to drink beer.”

  “She’s got you there, Rocco,” River said.

  Mario noticed a pink blush working its way up Skye’s face since Rocco’s comment about Doug.

  “I’m getting some water,” Skye said, hastily leaving the table.

  Huh, Mario thought, remembering how Miranda had asked him what Doug had said about Skye.

  This place is like an old CW show. They’re all attractive, even, but the conversation is too intelligent.

  He looked across the dining hall at Miranda as she refilled her plate. She looked tired. Not sick but worn out. Maybe a vitamin deficiency? Mono? He didn’t know what to make of the appetite change because hunger
did not suggest illness. He leaned over Miranda’s empty spot between him and River.

  “Can I talk to you later?” he asked, his voice low. “I think I’m going to need your help.”

  River raised an eyebrow. “With?”

  “Not sure,” he said. “But Miranda’s been dragging since we got to Portland, and she never naps. She also hates to admit when she’s sick.”

  “You’ve just described the predominant type of person to survive the end of the world,” River said. “Let’s talk later. I’ll get her sorted.”

  On the way back from dinner, they lay in the field just before the woods to look at the stars.

  “There’s Orion’s Belt,” Miranda said. “See the three really bright ones in a row?”

  Mario nodded, then realized she couldn’t see the gesture. “Yeah, I do. What’s the story of Orion?”

  “No idea,” Miranda said. “There are more stars to that one, but the belt is all I can ever find. Mythology is one of those things I always meant to get around to reading.”

  “No time like the present. D’you know any more?”

  Miranda yawned. “There’s Canis Major.”

  Mario followed the line of her pointing arm. All he saw were stars.

  “What’s it supposed to be?” he asked. If he knew what he was looking for, he might have a better chance of seeing it.

  “No idea,” Miranda replied. “My dad knew them all, but I don’t remember the stories. I never paid attention.”

  “That’s a golden childhood memory.”

  Miranda snorted. “He used to drag us out with that stupid telescope for hours, like it made up for him being gone most of the time. I’m surprised I remember any of them since I hated it so much.” She paused, then sighed. “Wouldn’t mind stargazing with him now.”

  Mario squeezed her hand in his. Like most people, they rarely spoke about the people they had lost. Which was ironic, since it was one of the first things they had connected over.

  “What’s going on?” Miranda said. “You seemed a little distracted before dinner.”