“His death doesn’t matter. It’s not his body. Forget soul if you have to. It’s his ideas, the ones that make their way out into the world and change it. It’s his wife, his employees, even his notes. All that’s alive. All that’s hope. All that’s Kyua.”
“You’re nuts, Jonesey.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, now tell me how that makes me different from you?”
He had me there.
“See? So tell me why you’re here. What are you looking for? I know you’re not just hiding out.”
It was a mistake to answer. I knew what he’d think the blue stuff was, but with Misty gone, I didn’t have anyone to bounce things off. Jonesey clearly knew the place, and his connections were usually real. So I told him the whole story, even the parts no one else would believe. As I spoke, he got excited, blasts of air flying from his nose like he’d discovered a new way of laughing.
“Hess, you beautiful bastard! Hess! That’s it! You’ve got it! It’s got to be the cure! And you don’t even believe in fate.”
That much I expected, now the trick was whether I could talk him down. “Easy on the Kool-Aid, Jim Jones. Maybe someday your Kyua will come, but think about the current situation. That arm didn’t get divorced from its body due to irreconcilable differences. Saying something’s fishy is an understatement.”
But Jonesey wasn’t about to let the facts ruin his fun. “I’ve got connections, we can get you out tomorrow. You go, you get it, and you bring it back to my people! We’ll test it ourselves!”
I looked behind him. “You got a lab up your ass? Decontamination suits? You said yourself it takes you an hour to punch a number into a cell phone.”
“So bring it back to ChemBet! I’ll make the call. I’ll get you immunity!”
When he flipped open the phone, I slapped it out of his hand.
“Stop it! Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? At least three groups are looking for this stuff? Don’t be crazy.”
He looked at the fallen cell. “They said Einstein was crazy.”
“They also called a lot of crazy people crazy! Look what they did to Misty.”
“But with Kyua it can all be fixed. All of it. Misty could even bring back Chest—”
Before he could finish the sentence, I slammed him into the wall.
“You don’t know what that stuff is.”
Jonesey moved his head back and forth, but didn’t try to get away. “Forget I mentioned it. Forget I mentioned that you might have the power to save everyone. Don’t even try, Hess. Just let us all…rot.”
I hissed at him. “Sing ‘Kyua-Kumbaya’ all you want, but deep down, you try to remember how we all got here. Two steps. The first, Maruta and ChemBet. Remember who they are. The second step, you. Remember who you are.”
“Oh? Who am I?”
I had to spell it out for him. “You, Jonesey, are the idiot who put together a chak rally that turned into a massacre. How many chakz burned that day? How many livebloods died? Got a rhyming game for that? A mousand, a louseand…a thousand! All the camps we’ve got now, full of rotting chakz? Your fault, Jonesey. Yours. Next time you make a speech about how we should dance into that testing facility, think about where you led us last time! Remember who you are.”
Maybe I got through. He wasn’t smiling anymore, at least.
“I will, Hess. Long as you remember who you are.”
16
I thought I’d had it when they brought me in for my first physical, but Jonesey insisted it would be fine, that I just had to keep a good thought. He also told me he had a surprise for me later. I couldn’t wait.
Half the walls were cinder block, half white cloth mounted on wheeled frames. The floor plan could be changed at will, like flats on a theater stage rearranged for different scenes. Yesterday, it could’ve been a supply space, today it was a medical exam room. The overall effect left me feeling like I was in a pretend-doctor’s office.
My shirt was off. Some chubby guy in a lab coat, cigarette dangling from chicken lips, pressed a stethoscope into various parts of my body. If he’d actually been a doctor, he’d have spotted my fake scar, but I guess he was just playing one on TV. Then again, he did have the stethoscope on the right way. And a dead body, sans the élan, je ne sais quoi, or whatnot, looks fake to begin with. A mannequin might look natural to someone staring at torn, dried flesh and dangling limbs all day.
I acted my part, exaggerating my limp, twisting my body. Whenever he got near the fake hair, or the eye-glob, I shivered and winced as if it hurt like crazy. That was easy, since my eye did hurt, ever since the flamethrowers. I wondered if the scar-putty had welded onto my eyelid, the way Jonesey’s plaid shirt was part of his skin. There was going to be hell to pay when I pulled it off.
If I ever pulled it off.
Dr. Death couldn’t care less. When he wasn’t prodding me or making notes on a tablet, he was flicking ashes on the floor. Despite his shape, or lack thereof, he was young, probably a low-level researcher, and just nerdy enough to wear a pocket protector with the ChemBet logo on it.
He took some time fingering the bullet hole, grunting what sounded like approval about the stitches. It was dry now, whatever wetness having seeped out long ago.
“You patch this yourself?”
“Yeah.”
I got a big note for that. Maybe I’d be nominated for membership in the sewing circle. Past that, I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but I hoped he’d found it. If I was ever going to figure out what was going on with those vials, I’d have to get into the lab.
A new screen flashed on the tablet. He blinked, read the first line, then said in a cheery voice, “My name is Steven. How long have you been here, Mr…. Seabrook?”
Was it two days or three? Not sure, I reached over to where my jacket hung on a hook and pulled out my recorder. With a prissy sort of disapproval, he took it away before I could press PLAY.
“Hey! That’s mine, pal. Bought and paid for.”
He didn’t look at me, just made a note, then spoke again.
“My name is Steven. The point of this part of the exam is to test your memory. You’ll get it back when we’re done. What did I just ask you?”
“How long I’ve been here?”
“Great. And the answer is?”
I tried to sound certain. “Two days.”
He made a note. “And what’s my name?”
I knew Dr. Death was the wrong answer, but past that…
“Uh…”
He looked up at me and asked again. “What’s my name?”
When livebloods talk about memory farts, they say things like I drew a blank, or it’s on the tip of my tongue. This was more like you’re walking along and the road, which was fine a second ago, disappears. There’s a blank spot where the path was, and not so much as a detour sign.
I could tell from the look in Dr. Death’s eyes that I’d failed. There was more, a light in my uncovered eye that I kept seeing long after he pulled it away, some raps on my knee with a little rubber hammer that made my hand twitch. We both thought that was pretty funny, actually.
Then he handed me my recorder and told me to put my shirt back on.
“That it?” I asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Do I get in?”
I guess I sounded eager, because his eyes narrowed. “Do you believe in Kyua?”
Should I lie? Was it part of the test or was he satisfying his own curiosity?
“I believe in better living through chemistry.”
I didn’t get a lollipop, but he gave me an admiring nod. “Good sense of humor.”
I pointed at the tablet. “You want to make a note of that?”
He shrugged, making his cigarette bounce a little. “Maybe next month, if you’re still funny.”
“I don’t, don’t, don’t want to! No way, no way!”
The commotion came from behind one of the screens. The hanging fluorescents didn’t cast any shadows, but as the h
ubbub grew, someone staggered into the screen, pushing the cloth back and giving us a look. I didn’t really have to see who it was. I’d recognized the voice, the way the pitch jangled what nerves I had. It was Hudson.
Two interns were trying to stuff him into a straitjacket. As one tightened the straps, the other pulled the privacy wall back into place. Hudson’s voice grew muffled, like he’d been gagged.
I felt like I should try to get him out so he could spend his days happily twitching in a field on some farm, but there wasn’t much I could do. Dr. Death had buried his head in the tablet as if he were trying to pretend nothing had happened.
“Hey,” I said. “That’s my roomie. His name is Hudson. I don’t think he wants to go.”
He kept looking down. “According to our tests, he doesn’t know what he wants. He’s paranoid, delusional. Besides, legally he doesn’t have a choice.”
“Is it really paranoia when some people are out to shove you into a straitjacket and experiment on you?”
“That question is above my pay scale.”
I was going to say flipping burgers was above his pay scale, but I asked, “Why take him and not me?”
“Dr. Maruta’s doing a study on chakz with severe nerve damage.”
“Maruta? I thought he was dead.”
He eyed me like I was still failing his fucking test. “Dr. Rebecca Maruta. His wife. She’s head of the department now.”
I’d read that somewhere. “Right.”
Once the muffled protests faded, Dr. Death sent me on my way. “See you again in about a month.”
A month. I was afraid by then I’d forget why I was here, but I headed out like a good little corpse, following the exit arrows along the cinder block, glancing around to see if I could tell where they’d taken Hudson.
I was almost out of the building when I saw Jonesey coming in. I slowed as we neared each other. “Can some of those strings you pull get me into the lab?”
He stopped short and stared at me. “You failed? They don’t want you?”
“Sue me.” I needed him, so I tried to be conciliatory. “Look, if I get in and find out ChemBet’s on the level, I’ll give them the stuff, okay?”
The right side of his lips shot up in a wry half smile. “You’re so convinced they’re evil, it wouldn’t matter what you found.”
“Evil’s a big word. Let’s just say I think they’re wildly incompetent.”
He shook his head again. “I can’t help you.”
“Come on, Jonesey. For Misty.”
“I didn’t say wouldn’t, I said I couldn’t. I just pulled in every favor I had, and even then it wasn’t easy to get them to let me go until I said I’d cancel the Kyua meetings. You may think you’re powerless, Hess, but our chat had an effect on me. It made me decide to stop talking about faith and put my money where my mouth is. That was my surprise, but I thought you’d be coming with me.”
It took me a second. “You’re going to the lab? How soon?”
“Today. We load up behind the meeting hall at four p.m. It’s a nice big bus, I’ve seen it, air-conditioning, cushioned seats, LCD screens, the works. They may even have a movie for the drive. I’m going to Kyua in style, Hess. And I have you to thank for it.”
“They just dragged my roomie off in a straitjacket, kicking and screaming. He says it’s like a torture chamber. Thank me if they don’t cut you up into pieces.”
“Hudson, right?” Jonesey tsked. “I think he’d be in pain no matter where he was. Just doesn’t get it, just won’t let go.”
“Ah…I’m not even going to bother trying to talk you out of it. Is there any way you can sneak me onto the bus?”
He bobbed his head. “Residents are encouraged to say good-bye to friends, and a few always show up. It wouldn’t be strange for you to be hanging around. You’d never make it onto the bus, that they’re real careful about. Don’t pay much attention to the baggage holds, though. I could pack a little something to put there, try to wedge a strap into the latch so it doesn’t close all the way. The rest would be up to you, but I know you can do it.”
He was wrong about “a few” chakz showing. Once word spread that their high priest was ascending, anyone who could walk, slouch, or crawl had to be there. They all said their good-byes, some to Jonesey, some to fellow chakz, others to fence posts.
The guard at COC usually looked pretty calm, but there were so many postmortem well-wishers, I could tell they were worried. They looked even more tense when they had to pry a few residents off of Jonesey. The ear-biter was back, and she was the toughest. When they pulled her away, she started in with the sobbing again.
Once he was a safe distance from her, Jonesey turned back. “It’s okay! It’s okay!” Thumb to his ear, his pinky to his mouth, he nodded and said, “You can still call me until after I’m in orientation, like I showed you. One for fun, two for you.”
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a cell phone, and stared at it like she was going to eat it.
With that little kindness crossed off his to-do list, Jonesey, a rucksack over his shoulder, walked to the far side of the bus. He reappeared without it, waving to the crowd.
“You can all call. Kyua is coming!” he said before climbing into the bus.
With him no longer sucking up all the attention, I spotted someone else I knew among the boarders. Surprise, surprise, it was Bad Penny. I hadn’t seen her since we arrived. They’d put her in some cheerier, more childlike clothing that didn’t quite go with her skin or disposition. Looking miserable, she marched on in behind Jonesey. I hoped the hell I hadn’t rescued her from the frying pan just to shove her into the fire.
The other passengers, hepped up on Kyua, all looked thrilled, all except Hudson, that is. Even in his straitjacket, he had to be forced on.
With Jonesey out of sight, the crowd didn’t thin as much as dribble off. The last few chakz still boarding, I made like I was leaving, but headed to the far side of the bus. Like Jonesey said, it was a big sucker. The chak heads pressed against the tinted windows looked like senior citizens being taken to Atlantic City.
Eyes on the guards, I put my back to the aluminum side and felt along the lip of the first baggage compartment. Locked tight. I shifted to door number two. It looked just as closed, but when I pulled, it popped open into the back of my legs.
Good old Jonesey.
Speaking of mixed bags, I went to my knees, slipped in, moved the rucksack off the latch, and yanked the door shut. When nothing happened for a minute, I figured no one had spotted me.
It was cozy for a luggage hold, roomy, and not completely dark. The seams let in some light from outside. A tug at the lining gave me a view up into the seating area. I saw Jonesey in his comfy chair, head bopping to a tune only he could hear, pleased as could be. If the bright socks and buckled shoes were any indication, Penny sat next to him, looking like she was trying to ignore him.
He leaned forward, tapped on her little knee, and said with a smile, “We’re going to Kyua.”
I heard her voice answer: “Are you fucking nuts?”
If I ever had a daughter of my own, Penny would probably kick the shit out of her.
As the bus farted exhaust and rolled out of Camp Chambers, it finally came to me.
Steven. The doctor’s name was Steven.
17
ChemBet was undead itself in a way. It started life as a pharmaceutical company in the early nineteenth century, back when folks like J. Marion Sims used a shoemaker’s awl to move around the skull bones of enslaved babies. Now he’s called the father of gynecology. Anyway, they expanded into things like medical devices and women’s sanitary napkins. They were the world’s third-largest drug company when the Marutas came to work for them.
Consistently named a great place for working mothers, they were trusted a bit more than their competitors. ChemBet was top-notch, as well liked as giant corporations get. That’s one reason the RIP spread so quickly. Another was, of course, the whole bringing the dead ba
ck thing.
They were number one for a while there, but when people saw the results, fingers pointed, heads rolled, and a CEO or two resigned in disgrace. Ultimately, though, ChemBet was too big to fail, and went on its merry way.
Like me, it’d gotten this far. Must mean something, right? Then again, if you drive a car off a cliff, you can pretend you’re flying right up until you hit bottom.
The wheels on the bus went round and round. It was warm on one side of me, cold on the other. I drifted off, but wouldn’t call it peaceful. I dreamt I was alive. Dad was there, storming around the house, looking for his fingers, insisting I’d misplaced them.
“If your fucking head wasn’t attached, you’d lose that, too!”
Even then, I couldn’t do anything right. Where the hell had I left those fingers? Dad was so pissed, he forced me to chew on the neighbor’s collie.
“Chewing dogs is all you’re good for!”
It was weird, even for him.
When I woke up, my wig was off and half in my mouth, which explained the part about the dog. The real hairs on my head, exposed to the air for the first time in a long while, hurt. The engine thrumming was gone and it was dark even along the cracks.
Once I finished pulling synthetic strands from my teeth, I felt the wig. In the dark, I couldn’t tell if there was enough left to bother trying to wear. For better or worse, I’d eaten my disguise.
Reluctantly, I tried to peel away the scar-putty. That didn’t work, so I pulled, and then yanked. There was a disturbing tearing sound as a big blob of something came free. Harder bits seemed stuck in the gunk. It felt wet to the touch. I hoped I hadn’t yanked out my eye. Pain is tricky with chakz. Sometimes we feel it, sometimes we don’t.
Well, getting caught as Hessius Mann might be the better move. Legally, they’d have to turn me over to the police. Corporations always follow the law, don’t they? And maybe pigs would fly out of my butt and give everyone in Fort Hammer a free e-reader.
At least knowing where their precious McGuffin was hidden gave me a bargaining chip.
Dead Mann Running (9781101596494) Page 13
