by A. M. Geever
“It’s only going to be half an hour,” she said.
“Nah,” Rocco said, shaking his head. “They said half an hour at least. They know we’re by a fallback, so they know we’ll be okay if it takes longer. You two, go. You’re still recuperating, Miranda. Rich and I can wait.”
“I’ll walk y’all over,” Rich said.
“We have Delilah to come with—”
“Come on, Miranda,” Skye said. “It won’t do any harm to have Rich walk us over. Much as I hate to admit it, Rocco’s right. He’ll bitch and whine the whole time if we don’t, and I do not have the patience for that today.”
“All right, then,” Miranda said.
Letting them change the tire was one thing, but an escort was weird.
They walked down the road a hundred feet to a post with a bright-orange stripe of reflective paint at the top. Delilah disappeared into the tall grass as they left the road and headed for a nearby copse of trees. As they walked under the trees, Miranda saw the treehouse. It was bigger than she had expected, but not huge, and fifteen feet off the ground. She turned back toward the road. Rocco, leaning against the Jeep, waved.
“This isn’t even a thousand feet away! You could have just watched us,” Miranda said, shooting Rich an incredulous look. “You have rifles, for Pete’s sake.”
Rich looked sheepish and shrugged. He pushed his sunglasses up on his head.
“Where I come from, a gentleman walks a lady home. If she was still with us, my momma would whip my ass if I didn’t, even before all this.”
“It’s because you’re pregnant,” Skye said while she pulled on a rope that released a collapsible ladder.
“And because you were doing poorly,” Rich added.
“Are you kidding me?” Miranda said, absolutely floored.
“I need to get back,” Rich said. “Up you go. Will the dog be okay staying with us?”
“She’ll be fine,” Miranda said. She climbed the ladder, which Skye pulled up after them. Delilah appeared from the high grass and began to whine.
“It’s okay, Liley. Stay with Rich.”
Delilah looked up at her, head cocked to the side, then sat down with a harumph.
“I’ll leave her, then,” Rich said, motioning to the dog. He turned and began walking back to the Jeep.
The treehouse had a roof and shutters that could be closed over the upper half of the walls on all four sides. Cots and camp chairs were folded against one side. Two rectangular metal tool boxes, the kinds that tradesmen used to have in the beds of their trucks, were up against another wall.
“Food and water, radio, sleeping bags,” Skye said, when she saw Miranda looking at them. “And some weapons in the other. They’re always unlocked.”
Skye pulled over two camp chairs and opened them up, then sat and put her feet on the rail of the half-wall at the edge of the treehouse.
“Might as well get comfortable.”
Miranda sat in the other chair, resting her hand on her growing belly.
“Are they going to be like this the whole time?”
“Probably,” Skye said. “I mean, you know Rocco well enough by now. Pregnant women set his Old School to eleven. I’ve seen it before. They’re all gonna get a little weird.”
Miranda tried to absorb this startling information. She had not been surprised when Mario got more protective, but she never thought it would be generalized to include others.
“Are you sure?” she asked, unable to wrap her mind around what Skye was telling her.
Skye laughed. “I don’t think Doug will get too weird, but everyone else probably will.”
“He better not,” Miranda muttered. “I’ve been sick, but I am a perfectly capable and competent person. I’m not just a vessel because I’m pregnant.”
“You know that, and I know that, but things have changed for you, especially where men are concerned. I don’t even think they can help it. I mean, I saw men do it a little bit back in the day, but now.” She shrugged. “It’s like their cavemen brains take over and they start looking for shit to bash with a club.”
“It wasn’t like this at home.” And I never paid attention because I was never going to do this, Miranda realized. “I am not going to like this at all.”
Skye said, “Doug and I were talking about it the other day. He’ll be very disappointed if you do. I think he’s looking forward to the fireworks.”
“I’m sure he is,” Miranda muttered, but it made her smile, too. She’d do the same to him if their roles were reversed. A sudden thought occurred to her. “Has Doug gotten like this with you? Because of—”
Skye’s body language changed without her moving. Tighter, more constrained. Miranda kicked herself. She had not thought before she spoke.
“I’m sorry, Skye,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Skye pulled her feet down from the rail. “It’s okay. I’m just on edge a little with this whole Brock thing. And you surprised me.” She looked down at her boots. “It’s that obvious?”
Miranda stifled a laugh. “I know him really well,” she said, which had the virtue of being true even if just now it was a complete lie.
Skye smiled, still looking at her boots. She was clearly pleased and blushing like a beet.
“He’s more,” her voice trailed off as she searched for the word. “Around.”
She looked up. Miranda thought she would say more about Doug, but she stood up and said, “They’re coming over here.”
Miranda looked, too. Sure enough, Rocco and Rich were coming to the fallback. Skye lowered the ladder.
“What’s going on?” Miranda called down.
“It’s the monkeys,” Rocco said.
Rich reached the top of the ladder and joined them. “A couple of them got inside the building, and they’re raising holy heck. They’re having a time of it rounding them up.”
Rocco appeared, a squirming and unhappy Delilah in one arm. Miranda rushed forward to help with the dog, and Rocco pulled up the ladder.
“I told them to leave it and come get us,” he said. “But they’re trashing the place, so they have to catch them. Didn’t get in the BSL-3 hallway. And they won’t get in the lab, of course. They did pull Mario and Alicia out to help.”
Skye snickered. “Alicia’s laugh and a bunch of macaques running rampant. Oh my God.”
“I don’t know why y’all are so hard on that poor girl,” Rich said.
“I like her just fine, but that laugh.” Skye shuddered. “It’s brutal.”
Miranda looked back at the Jeep. Beyond it, just along the tree line of the ever-expanding forests, a figure stumbled forward.
“We’ve got company over there,” she said, pointing.
“At least we’re up here,” Rich said. “Doesn’t look like too many of them.”
How he gauged that Miranda couldn’t figure, since the forest area was thick with underbrush, and she couldn’t see a thing beyond the tree line. Not that it mattered. It was not a problem yet. Rocco raided the food, which Skye chided him for. Rich settled in for a nap, which looked like an excellent idea to Miranda. She got a sleeping bag, and even a little pillow, out of the supplies box.
Delilah’s growls woke her. Miranda could hear the moans but could tell by the volume that there weren’t many zombies. They had to be close for Delilah to growl. Miranda sat up, yawning, and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Delilah’s nose was glued to the cracks around the trapdoor. Every few seconds, she growled softly. The sun looked high in the sky.
Miranda said, “How long have we been here?”
Skye and Rocco looked up from their card game, where they sat on the floor near the trapdoor.
“Two hours,” Skye said.
“Really?” she asked, surprised. “How many monkeys were there?”
“They caught three, four more to go. They think,” Rocco said. “Some idiot must have propped the door open to let that many inside.”
Rich sat in the chair she had used before, a b
ook on his knee with his finger keeping his place. “Did you rest those eyelids?”
“I did.”
Miranda yawned again, then picked up and tossed the small pillow at the empty camp chair, but it sailed right over the rail.
“Goddammit.”
Rich grinned at her. “Coulda played for the Yankees.”
“I’m from San Francisco, so the Giants,” she corrected, looking over the rail to see where the pillow had landed.
Ten zombies milled below. The pillow had landed beyond them but had caught their attention. They stumbled away to investigate. If we’re careful about we how we kill them, we can save the pillow, Miranda thought. It wouldn’t matter if they walked on it, but zombie goop smell never seemed to completely fade from cloth it soiled.
The first zombie was almost to the pillow when it jerked back and turned away.
“What the hell?” Miranda muttered.
The next zombie staggered closer, then changed course so abruptly it fell over. It stumbled back up to its feet, pretty quickly for a zombie.
I can’t be seeing this right, Miranda thought, feeling dizzy.
“Guys,” she said. “Come look at this.”
Rich leaped to his feet, joined a second later by Rocco and Skye.
“What is it?” Rich asked, his voice tense.
“Watch them and the pillow.”
“Watch the pillow?” Rocco said. “From your voice I thought something was wrong.”
“Just watch.”
A third zombie tottered over. The others had peeled off to follow the zombies that had changed course back to the treehouse.
Just like the first two, this zombie got about two feet from the pillow, then jerked away.
“What is it doing?” Skye said, sounding puzzled.
She wasn’t imagining it. Miranda’s stomach plunged into her feet.
“I’ve never seen a zombie do that,” Rocco said, sounding both confused and intrigued. “What’s on that pillow?”
Through a cottony mouth, Miranda said, “Me.”
Ninety minutes later, Miranda’s bra, panties, and both socks—clothing she could manage without and not compromise her outer layers of protection—were on the ground below the treehouse. In every instance, the flutter of fabric had caught the zombies’ attention. But when they stumbled over to look for a snack, they never got closer than two feet before jerking away and changing direction. With every new article of clothing, Miranda’s dread grew. By the time they tossed her panties, she’d hit full-blown panic.
Miranda sat on the edge of the camp chair, her arms clamped around her middle. She chewed on her lip, wishing one of the waves of nausea roiling her stomach would be enough to make her throw up. She didn’t think she would feel better, but it had to be better than this acid burn at the back of her throat that rose and fell but never went anywhere. Delilah lay with her paws and head on Miranda’s feet, periodically rising to nudge Miranda’s hand until Miranda petted her. When the petting petered out, the tawny pit bull resettled on Miranda’s feet.
A vehicular rumble buzzed in the distance—the truck that had radioed ten minutes ago. Skye crouched down in front of Miranda. Her eyes were full of reassurance, but the bruises that surrounded her left eye and colored her jaw and temple undermined it.
“We don’t know what this means, Miranda. Don’t jump to any conclusions.”
Miranda shook her head. Skye’s kindness caused the tears that she had managed keep in check so far to rush to the surface. If she repelled bites after being bitten by Jeremiah, what was it doing to the baby?
“You don’t know him like I do,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Nothing good comes from that monster. Not a goddamn thing.”
29
River looked serious but not alarmed as she sat down. Mario wondered if they taught doctors how to do that in medical school… How to Look Like the Shit Has Not Hit the Fan 101. He had been nervous about her leaving earlier. As soon as he saw Miranda, he knew the flat tire had been the least of their worries. He wrapped Miranda’s hand inside his own for at least the tenth time since they sat down. She was as outwardly fidgety, anxious, and scared as he felt, but he tried to keep it from showing. Miranda needed him, more than ever. He had to be here for her, reassure her. Which probably wasn’t possible, but he still had to try. But he wouldn’t be able to if he let how much of a basket case he was on the inside show.
“So,” River said. “I can’t tell you to not freak out, because you’re already doing that. I hate to say this, but on my side, all we can do is wait and see. This is uncharted territory. So far, the pregnancy has been progressing normally. I’ll monitor Miranda a lot more closely, obviously. And we will find and fix an ultrasound if it kills me. I’ve already spoken to the commander, and she’s made it her top priority.”
Miranda sighed. “I knew that was what you were going to say but…”
“Oh, sweetie,” Mario said, pulling her close when she started to cry.
It killed him to see her like this. She was still almost too thin from her illness, and she had been so wiped out by the beginning of the pregnancy. The hot, furious anger bubbled up again. He wanted to murder Jeremiah. Wring his fucking neck and watch the light fade from his crazed eyes. And then he wanted to revive him and do it again. With an effort, he tamped the anger down. He would deal with Jeremiah another day. Right now, he had to take care of Miranda and the baby.
“The commander wants to keep this under wraps, and I agree. We have no idea if this repellant effect is permanent or transient, or what causes it, but that’s going to be for Mario and Alicia to figure out. I still want you to come back to LO, Miranda,” River said. She looked to Mario. “Did you get all the blood draws you need?”
Mario nodded. Alicia had already started to study samples of Jeremiah’s saliva and Miranda’s blood. Her survival might be the key to being able to replicate the vaccine with this different strain of virus. They still weren’t sure how she had been infected in the first place.
We probably need her saliva samples too, he thought, then felt the floor drop out from under him. Would Miranda be an asymptomatic carrier, too? And if she was, had she infected him when they kissed or made love? He shied away from the thought, unable to think about one more thing that might be wrong.
It was personal now. Jeremiah had seen to that.
“If you need more blood, just say so,” Miranda said, wiping her face with the hanky Mario had given her.
At her words, his heart broke a little more.
River said, “I don’t want to jump the gun, but if the worst should happen, we can terminate the pregnancy safely, even late-term. I had to do it once before, when the fetus died.”
A bleak resignation overwhelmed Mario. It had been too good to be true. That Miranda would get pregnant in the first place and want to keep it. That she would survive the illness from the bite. That their little Tadpole would be okay.
“I don’t want that,” Miranda said, growing more distraught.
“I’m not saying you need to,” River said quickly. “Just that it’s there. But hopefully this will be the first and last time we talk about it. You’re in a different place than you were a few weeks ago, Miranda. I know that.”
“I got tired of this world taking everything away from me.” She laughed, soft and bitter. “Sure showed me.”
“Come on, now,” Mario said. “Don’t give up yet.”
River said, “He’s right. Try not to panic too much, Miranda. And you too, Mario. This could end up being a big, fat exercise in our imaginations being scarier than anything reality can throw at us.”
Mario thanked her, and River hugged them both. They walked to their room, not talking. When they got there, Miranda crumpled on the bed.
“What are we going to do?” she said helplessly.
Mario dropped to his knees in front of her and held her hands in his. She was shaking, he realized. And he couldn’t hide it. He couldn’t pretend to be stronger than he was
, not when it felt like everything was crashing down around him.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. But we’ll figure it out together,” he said, his voice getting tight. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “There might not be anything wrong. We might be putting ourselves through this for no reason.”
“I know that here,” she said, tapping her head, before moving her hand to her heart. “But not here.”
“I love you,” he said. “Hold on to that.”
“I know you do.” She sighed. “Lay down with me.”
Mario climbed onto the bed and gathered her into the crook of his shoulder. He stroked her hair, which had grown out enough to look shaggy and shapeless.
“I’m going to kill him,” Miranda whispered, her voice becoming steely. She looked up at him. A ferocious anger burned in her blue eyes. “Whatever happens, I’m going to kill him.”
Mario nodded, then pulled her closer. The rightness of her words wrapped him in a warm embrace.
“We’ll do it together.”
Mario leaned back from the microscope, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He arched his back from tailbone to neck. Then he looked down at the floor. Every muscle in his neck pulled against the base of his skull and his shoulders. When he rolled his head, his neck crackled.
He checked his watch. It was two thirty in the morning. He had worked for twelve hours straight, just like every other day for the past ten days.
“No wonder I can’t see straight,” he said, deciding to call it quits.
But today had been a good day—a great day. They had confirmed—definitively—that Miranda was not an asymptomatic carrier of the ZBZ virus. She could bite people until the cows came home, and she might give them tetanus or any of a number of equally nasty infections, but she could not turn them into zombies.
Half an hour later, because it took that long to store everything properly and get through the decontamination protocols to exit the lab, he collapsed into a chair in the Institute’s lobby. He would go to bed in a few minutes. The only people awake at this hour were on watch, at the front and back doors, plus those making rounds inside and outside. He wanted to be around people, but not necessarily interact with them, so stopping here for a few minutes worked.