Damage in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  “Do you know what you want to do?” he asked. “You don’t have to keep it. You know that, right?”

  This was never supposed to happen. Having a child together had never even been on the table. When they knew Miranda would live, he’d finally had the emotional and mental space to think about it. Once he had gotten over the shock, the ferocity with which he wanted her to continue the pregnancy had astonished him. But Miranda had to want it. It was her decision to make, in the end, no matter how much it might disappoint him.

  Her words tumbled out in a flurry. “I want to keep it.”

  She sounded like she was confessing to a murder, not telling him that she wanted his baby. His baby. His and Miri’s baby. A head rush of relief slammed into Mario’s brain. He felt lightheaded, giddy. The world receded behind a haze of light and static, completely apart from the two of them and the tiny tadpole of a baby growing inside her.

  She sounded embarrassed when she said, “It makes me the world’s biggest hypocrite—”

  He kissed her, falling into the cottony softness of her lips against his, the sweet taste of mint, and this wonderful detour that they had not seen coming. When they parted, Mario felt dizzy. He touched his forehead to hers. The tenderness in his heart swelled until it ached.

  The dark circles under her eyes could not compete with the way Miranda smiled, glowed, luminesced.

  “That’s a yes?”

  “That’s a yes,” he said, laughing. “I’d do whatever you want, Miranda, whatever that is. I’m so happy it’s this.”

  If it was possible, and apparently it was, her smile grew even brighter. And then it faded. She pulled away and bit her lip, abruptly apprehensive. Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “What about me being sick?”

  In the endless hours of helpless waiting, of not knowing if she would live or die, never mind what she wanted to do about a pregnancy neither one of them saw coming, Mario had asked himself the same question. But only once. As she teetered on the edge of life and death, the possibility had been too theoretical to entertain. And when it became clear she would survive, too frightening to think about.

  River had said everything was progressing normally despite her illness. All he could think to say was, “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay,” she said. Relief radiated from her in waves. “Okay. I can do that.”

  Reassurance was all she had needed. He could give her that. And his love, which was already hers. It hit him again, how fundamentally their lives had changed, and would keep on changing.

  He said, incredulous, “We’re going to have a baby, Miranda.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s pretty fucking weird, isn’t it?”

  Miranda could feel her eyes drooping, even though she was enjoying her visit with Doug.

  “I’m gonna go, Miri. You’re falling asleep,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” she said through a yawn. “Come see me again later, okay?”

  Doug smiled and gave Delilah a pat. “Of course, Coppertop. Get better so I can harass you. You almost dying has deprived me of my favorite pastime.”

  He glanced to the door as he stood. His brow furrowed, concern replacing the indulgent affection he had directed at her.

  Miranda followed his line of sight. Skye stood in the doorway. The chalky color of shock, as if she had just seen a ghost, was amplified by the purple and blue bruises on her face and neck. They had finally reached the full bloom of worsening before they would get better.

  “What’s wrong?” Doug asked.

  Miranda’s alarm grew as Skye looked from Doug to her, her face a mixture of fear and apprehension.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” she said haltingly. “I didn’t—”

  Skye looked desperate, like the world was collapsing around her. She said to Doug, “Can I talk to you later?”

  “We can talk now. I was just leaving.”

  Skye’s face showed how much she wanted to take him up on his offer, but she shook her head. “I don’t want to interrupt—”

  “He really was leaving,” Miranda said. She squeezed Doug’s hand to get his attention. “Go. I’ll see you later.”

  Doug nodded, giving her a distracted smile, and walked to Skye. Tears shimmered in her eyes by the time Doug reached her. As they stepped into the hallway, he asked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She couldn’t hear Skye’s reply, just a low, distressed murmur.

  Delilah followed them as far as the door, whimpering. Then she turned back and hopped onto Miranda’s bed.

  “What has her so shaken up?” Miranda said, rubbing the dog’s head while Delilah wormed as close to her as possible.

  Miranda watched the retreating forms of her friends through the doorway as they walked down the corridor. Doug put his arm around Skye’s shoulders just as they began to hitch. They turned the corner and walked out of sight, leaving Miranda’s question unanswered.

  When she woke later, the soft March sunshine was gone, replaced by the purples and grays of twilight. The lamp beside her bed was turned low. Doug and Mario huddled near the door. The set of Mario’s jaw was tight, and a deep frown pulled the corners of his eyes down. Doug’s hunched shoulders, the suppressed anger that radiated off him like heat from a furnace, reminded Miranda of a bomb about to explode.

  Whatever was going on, it was not good.

  She cleared her throat. “Hey, guys. What’s going on?”

  They both jumped. When they turned to her, they wore the bland expression of teenagers trying, and failing, to hide that they were stoned off their asses.

  “Did we wake you up?” Mario asked, coming to sit on the chair next to her. But not before he and Doug shared a glance that made Miranda uneasy.

  “No, you didn’t wake me.”

  Mario’s hand felt warm around hers, soft like sunshine.

  “I’m going to go check on Skye,” Doug said.

  “Wait a minute,” Miranda said, but he was already out the door. She looked back at Mario. “What the hell is going on?”

  Mario sighed. “P-Land got in touch earlier. Brock broke out of their jail. They have no idea where he is.”

  28

  Miranda looked at Mario, puzzled. “Why on earth would I be mad at you?”

  “I’ve been in the lab a little more this week since you’re doing so much better, but you’ve been kind of distracted all day. I don’t know.” Mario shrugged. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

  “I don’t know where you get these ideas, honey. It’s our last night together before I go back to LO. I’m not going to waste it being mad at you.”

  His whole body loosened in front of her eyes. She hadn’t realized how tense he was until he wasn’t. He tossed the towel wrapped around his hips over a chair and crawled under the covers. Naked, she was happy to see. She snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder. He smelled clean and faintly of pine.

  “You smell good,” she said.

  She traced her fingers over his chest. After another week in the sick room, she had declared that she was going back to hers and Mario’s room. Mario had acquiesced more readily than she had expected. Over the course of the week, however, he had rebuffed her every time she tried to make love, saying she still looked exhausted. She probably had, but she was getting tired of him acting like she was made of glass and would break if he sneezed near her.

  “You smell okay,” he said. “Not as good as me, but acceptable.”

  “Do you hear that, Tadpole?” she said, looking down toward her belly. “Do you hear how your father is talking to me?”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Tadpole knows I’m teasing.”

  Miranda sat up, pushing the covers back, and straddled him before he could do something stupid like protest.

  “And what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

  The T-shirt she had been sleeping in the last few months had grown tight around her swelling breasts. She trailed her hands over them bef
ore pulling it over her head, then smiled down at him as she tossed it away. His eyes darkened with desire. She felt him stir below her, already hard, as his hands settled on the small bump of her belly.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “I don’t even have a word for how gorgeous you are.”

  Her body was changing beyond the obvious. Her curves were softening; her breasts were larger and rounder, heavier too.

  “Show me.”

  He sat up, his hands sliding up her body to cup her breasts. They were more sensitive than ever, and a soft moan escaped her lips, her nipples tingling as they hardened under his fingers. His lips found hers, setting the smoldering embers inside her alight.

  “Move us to the edge of the bed,” she said.

  Mario looked at her curiously. “Like I move and you ride on my lap?”

  She nodded. He started to scoot them to the edge of the bed, Miranda still straddling him. They moved awkwardly, and Miranda could not suppress the giggles that bubbled up.

  “And you’re going to laugh at me?” Mario said with a grin.

  Miranda kept giggling as she kissed him, even after he bent his knees over the edge of the bed. It was just…funny, moving over the bed together in fits and starts, feeling the anticipation of their hungry bodies bumped off course but growing stronger because of the delay. He was such a good sport about it that it made the giggles worse.

  She hooked her feet over the edge of the mattress and kissed him again, a rush of love for him welling up in her chest. She could see how much he wanted her, but it was tempered with a gentleness that made her feel safe and content in a way she never had before. She rose up on her knees before sliding down, gathering him to her.

  Mario groaned into her mouth as her body surrounded him. They moved together with a tenderness that felt new, a sweetness that brought tears to her eyes. The gentle swell of her belly brushed against his muscled stomach. She saw his love for her and their baby underneath the haze of lust and desire. He took her hand from his waist, guiding it between them. When she touched herself and her whimpers grew more helplessly urgent, he smiled at her like the Cheshire Cat.

  For the first time since her illness, her body felt supple and if not strong, at least not fragile. Mario pulled her deeper into the rising, crackling heat. Waves of pulsing, hot pleasure rippled through Miranda’s body from where Mario moved inside her, where she caressed herself with her fingers. She kissed him as she started to come, her shuddering cries lost in the tangle of their tongues and lips. He held her hips in place, his grip growing tighter as he bucked underneath her, coming with a groan.

  Mario looked up into her eyes. “I missed you,” he said softly.

  She pulled him with her to burrow under the covers, drowsy and warm, her arms and legs entwined with his. Mario’s head rested on her shoulder. His hand traced lazy circles beneath her belly button that almost tickled.

  “I thought I was going to lose you,” he said so softly that she almost didn’t hear him. “Both of you.”

  She wriggled down the bed until she faced him. His eyes were dark, finally letting her see the terror that had sucked him into an abyss of despair she had only seen hints of. Mario projected self-assurance. He was so confident, so competent, at everything. Maybe because he’d done it for so long it was a habit now, this facade he projected of being strong all the time. But he didn’t need to be, not with her.

  “I’m still here, sweetheart,” she said, taking his hand.

  She interlaced his fingers with her own, their joined hands cradling their baby, who had surprised them both with its unexpected presence.

  “We’re both still here.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Mario said the next morning. “Make sure you sleep enough, and eat vegetables, and—”

  “I’ll make sure she does, mom,” Skye said as she walked past them.

  Despite the shock of learning that Brock was on the loose, Skye seemed to have regained her equilibrium. Miranda smothered a grin. Mario was fussing like a mother hen. It was sweet and endearing and right now, exasperating.

  Miranda laid her hand on his cheek and looked into his dark-brown eyes. “I will take very good care of myself and Tadpole. I promise. River is coming back to LO later this afternoon. And I have Liley to look after me.”

  Mario looked down at Delilah, who hovered nearby. Her tail began to wag, and Miranda saw some of the anxiety in his eyes recede. He smiled, chagrined.

  “I worry is all,” he said. “Tadpole kicked it into high gear.”

  “Luckily for Tadpole, he has a kick-ass momma.”

  “Tucci!” Rocco shouted. “For the love of all that’s holy, will you get your ass in gear? I’d like to leave this week.”

  She kissed Mario, slow and unhurried. Heat began to warm her insides and make her head buzz. Mario broke the kiss first and held her face in both hands.

  “I love you,” he said. The simple honesty of it shone in his eyes.

  “I must be feeling better,” she murmured. “Because I really want to jump you again.”

  Before he could reply, an arm slipped between them, wrapping around Miranda’s shoulders to settle over her collarbone.

  “I hate to be an asshole, James,” Rocco said as he tugged Miranda away, pulling her backward with him. “But we gotta go.”

  “I’ll see you soon,” Miranda said, blowing him a kiss. “I love you!”

  Mario pretended to catch it and smacked it on his cheek.

  “I’d have told you to get a room, but then it would have been another hour,” Rocco said. He kept his arm around her shoulders, presumably to keep her from escaping.

  “You’re not kidding anyone,” she said to Rocco. “You love being an asshole.”

  He laughed. “You two are worse than Doug and Skye.”

  Miranda stopped and looked up at him. “Did something happen? Have they, you know?”

  “Nah,” he said, walking to the Jeep again. “But between him holding her hand till she falls asleep every night and the longing looks, the sexual tension is unbearable.”

  Miranda laughed out loud. Everything he said was true. “You’ve changed your tune.”

  Rocco shrugged. “I was worried he was stringing her along for something that wasn’t gonna happen, but that guy’s still a priest like I’m a ladies’ man.”

  They climbed into the Jeep, Miranda plopping down beside Rich in the back seat. Delilah hopped into the Jeep’s front seat, then jumped to the back, squeezing between Miranda and Rich. Rich was rotating back to LO for a week. And he needed it, judging by his red-rimmed eyes and constant yawns. She wished the Jeep had headrests so she could lay her head back and relax, take in the spring sunshine with no effort. Instead, she tipped her face up to the sun and closed her eyes for a moment. Skye and Rocco talked over the noise of the rushing wind for a while, then fell silent. All around them, the already green landscape was dotted with even more light-green springtime shoots and lacy white and pink blossoms.

  In approximately four months, she and Mario would have a tiny person who would be completely dependent on them. The thought scared her, but not as much as she had thought it would. They would do what they had to do to protect their child—together. Mario would be ruthless protecting the two of them. Not that she needed protecting, but she did not want to be solely responsible for protecting their child. She had seen the lengths he had gone to in order to protect his family at home. He would do the same with theirs.

  A loud pop pulled Miranda from her musings. Delilah yipped as the Jeep listed and skidded across the rough, uneven road.

  “Son of a bitch,” Rocco said, fighting with the steering wheel as he slowed the Jeep. “Everyone okay?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to check with Miranda and Rich when they stopped.

  “Fine,” Miranda said.

  Skye had already jumped out of the Jeep and stood by the front passenger side tire. “Blow out,” she said.

  Miranda climbed out to join her. The rupture in the sidewall of
the tire that Delilah now sniffed was a foot long.

  Rich joined them, jack and lug wrench in his hands.

  “If y’all don’t mind, ladies,” he said, stepping past them. The lilt of his Southern drawl made the request almost courtly.

  “I’ll help you,” Rocco said. He said to Miranda and Skye, “Keep watch?”

  Skye said to Miranda, her voice low, “Get the little women out of the way while the men do manly men things.”

  Miranda snickered but thought she detected a note of relief in Skye’s voice that she and Miranda weren’t out here on their own. After the news of Brock’s escape, Miranda did not blame her.

  “They can knock themselves out,” Miranda said. “I’d rather watch for zombies any day.”

  Skye grinned, then winced, putting her hand on her bruised cheek.

  “Still smarts?” Miranda asked.

  It had been four weeks since Brock had attacked Skye, but many of the bruises were still purplish in spots. The rest were various shades of dark sickly greens and yellows.

  Skye nodded. “Much better, though.”

  Both women fell silent, scanning the area for any movement that might be zombies.

  “Gosh darn it,” Rich said a minute later. “I think the jack is broken.”

  “Let me try,” Rocco said.

  He traded places with Rich, to no effect but with a lot more swearing. Miranda and Skye kept watching, but they moved closer to the Jeep so they could better hear Rocco on the radio with the Institute. They were only about a third of the way to LO, so it was closer.

  “Goddammit,” Rocco said again a few minutes later. “They’ll be here,” he said. “But it’s gonna be half an hour at least. Something about monkeys… I don’t know.”

  “We heard,” Skye answered.

  Rocco’s brow furrowed. “You two should go to the fallback.”

  Miranda had heard about the treehouses that LO had built along vehicle and foot routes. She had not seen one, however, since she’d never needed one. Well, except for the day she almost froze to death, but she could not have just sat back and relaxed with Phineas bleeding out.