The Dishonored Dead: A Zombie Novel

by Swartwood, Robert

  Conrad watched the zombie. He listened carefully to each and every one of his words. He had to remind himself that the gray man in front of him wasn’t really gray at all; that his short gray hair was really light brown, that his gray eyes were really green, and that his gray skin was actually a pinkish pale.

  “Nobody,” Gabriel continued, “knows why it happened, or how. It just happened. There are theories, of course. The most prominent among the dead, what they teach in schools, is that it’s simple evolution. You are the next step. But what they don’t teach in schools is that the purpose of evolution is survival. That species adapt to save themselves. If that’s the case, then why did the living evolve into beings that can’t heal themselves, that have no emotions? That, in the next hundred years or so, will be completely wiped out and decayed off this planet?”

  Outside, the generator continued its low humming. Inside, Eric continued his quiet typing.

  “My theory?” Gabriel said. “My theory is that Mother Nature got sick and tired of the living. That for the longest time we had been abusing her and her resources and she had had enough. Why should she die after everything she had done for us, after she had given us life? So that’s why she decided to change things. Turn the living into the dead to keep the planet alive.”

  “Then how do you explain zombies like yourself? How do you explain Pandoras?”

  “I don’t know. Like I said, life, existence, is unexplainable. All I have is a theory, and a poor theory at that. I do agree that the underlying texture of the world was changed by all the bombings during the Zombie Wars. I believe that the earth absorbed much of the energy and somehow solidified it. But I also think maybe Mother Nature wants to give the world a second chance. I think she wants to correct what went wrong. But the problem is that it wasn’t Nature that caused everyone to become the animated dead. They did it to themselves. To change that, they need to make the effort.”

  Conrad was silent, trying to absorb all this information. He wasn’t getting anything solid, anything helpful, only conjecture. What he needed were answers, some way of saving his family, and he realized this zombie wasn’t going to be the one to help him.

  “I think I made a mistake.”

  “How is that?”

  “I came here looking for help. I don’t know why I thought you might be able—or even willing—to help me, but it’s clear I’ve wasted my time.”

  He got up from his seat.

  “Please, Conrad, sit down.”

  He just stood there, staring back at the zombie.

  “Do you remember one of the first things you asked me?” Gabriel said. “At our third session, when the two of us had an actual tête-à-tête?”

  Still standing there, still waiting.

  “You asked what made me so special. And the truth is nothing does, because I’m not special. I’m not special in the same way you’re not special. None of us”—he gestured at James and Eric—“are special. It’s not who we are that makes us special, but what we do, the actions we perform.”

  “Ruth said you were from Heaven. Is it true?”

  Something changed in Gabriel’s face. He said, “What help did you expect to get from me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “Norman said …”

  “Yes?”

  “He said you were my only hope now.”

  “And why would he say that?”

  Conrad shook his head.

  “Maybe,” Gabriel said, “it’s because right now I’m the only friend you have.”

  “You are not my friend.”

  “Perhaps. But if it wasn’t for me, you would still be locked in that room they put you in back at LI. You would still be locked in there when the Hunters came on their raid. Right now, you’d probably be sitting in front of the new Hunter General.”

  Conrad glanced over at the two zombies at the table, both whom were doing their best to act like they weren’t listening.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Albert wanted to keep you locked up. I persuaded him to let you go.”

  “But … why?”

  Gabriel stood up, took a breath, and said, “Because even though Albert blames you for what has happened, it’s not your fault.”

  Conrad just stared at him.

  “Before he released us, Albert spoke to me about you. He was very upset. He told me it was your fault. He said you were like the pebble that started the Ripple Effect. I wanted to tell him the truth right there and then, but I hesitated. I told him instead that it wasn’t really your fault. That this has been an inevitable conclusion. That at least was the truth. This whole thing with Philip Hager, it has always been coming.”

  “What truth?”

  Gabriel didn’t speak right away. He stood there, his mouth half-open, watching Conrad. Finally he shook his head.

  Conrad said, “So then I have wasted my time.”

  “From what I understood, Norman was going to take you away. Did he bring you back?”

  “He dropped me off two hours down the coast. I hitched a ride with a truck driver pulling a load for Philip.”

  Throwing a wary look over at James and Eric, Gabriel said, “What load for Philip?”

  “Over ten thousand assault rifles and ammunition. My guess is he’s building an army.”

  “An army is what he already has. All Special Police in the world have been ordered to assist in anything he needs. Not even an hour after he murdered General Thaddeus, Philip was offered its services and received a large cache of weapons. I can’t imagine what more he needs.”

  There was a silence.

  Conrad said, “I have to go.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “I need to save my son. I need to save my wife. I think—no, I know both of their existences are in danger.”

  “You won’t be able to do it alone.”

  “I can try.”

  “But if you try, you will fail. It’ll be you against a million Special Police and Hunters.” Gabriel stepped forward, raised a hand. “Wait a day. At least fourteen hours. If you agree to help me, I will do everything I can to help you.”

  Conrad glanced again at James and Eric, both who had given up the pretense of not listening and were now watching him closely.

  “Help you do what?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon Philip has scheduled another one of his public executions. I want to make sure the execution doesn’t happen.”

  “Who’s being executed?”

  Gabriel hesitated a moment, then said, “Eugene Moss.”

  Conrad folded his arms across his chest. “Absolutely not.”

  “Please, Conrad, you need to keep an open mind.”

  “Even if you do somehow save Eugene Moss, what do you expect him to do?”

  “We’re hoping he can put us in contact with others like him.”

  “You mean other murderers.”

  “Listen, I don’t agree with his methods. What he did was wrong and for that he is indeed guilty. Fighting violence with violence is not the right course of action in any event, but right now I don’t believe there is any other choice. If Philip has his way—and I’m beginning to believe with every minute that passes he will—not only will all the living be wiped from this planet, but all those who sympathize with the living too.”

  Conrad said, “And what’s wrong with that?”

  Gabriel’s shoulders dropped. He looked down at the ground, took a deep breath.

  “When did you stop questioning everything?”

  Startled, Conrad actually took a step back.

  Gabriel held his gaze. Then he glanced over at the two zombies at the table and said, “Eric, bring up the file.”

  Eric turned back to the laptop, began typing.

  Gabriel said to Conrad, “I must apologize. I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced. I know you know James, but have you met Eric?”

  The young zombie continued typing, oblivious to Gab
riel’s question.

  “Albert mentioned him to me once. Told me that he was … manufactured.”

  Gabriel produced a grim smile. “That’s one way of putting it. And ever since he was a boy having just turned, they’ve done tests on him. They’ve made him run the gauntlet. He can do almost everything. And he is a complete genius on the computer. Because of him, we are able to hack into Olympus’s main frame, letting us know what Philip is doing and what he plans on doing next.”

  “And?”

  “And among his many specialties, he also is able to hack into closed Government files.”

  Eric said, “Got it.”

  Gabriel motioned Conrad to walk with him to the table. Once they were there, Eric pushed himself out of his seat. He stood back to make room for Conrad.

  “This isn’t very long,” Gabriel said, “but it’s something I think you should see. She would have wanted it that way.”

  Before Conrad had a chance to ask who would have wanted what what way, an image appeared on the screen: the same woman who had haunted his thoughts, looking now into the camera as she spoke.

  “Hello, darling. I don’t even know if you’re ever going to see this, but if you do, I just want you to know that I love you. As much as I am able to, I love you with all my heart. And right now … right now I am sad, and scared, and sorry for what has happened. I wish things didn’t happen like they did, but that’s existence.”

  Conrad’s legs had become shaky. He slowly sat down.

  “You did nothing wrong, darling. Just remember that. Everything that happened, it was all my fault. But please, if you can, try to always remember Irene and Curdie. Always remember their adventure.”

  She wiped at her eyes, at the nonexistence tears.

  “I love you so much. I will always miss you. Be strong. Always remember what I told you. Don’t accept your existence for what is. Always question it. Always question everything.”

  The woman placed her fingers to her lips, kissed those fingers, extended them to the camera.

  A moment later, the screen went blank.

  For the longest time no one said a word. The only sound was the low humming of the generator outside, the whine of the laptop.

  Finally Gabriel spoke. “I believe it was kept in your file to prove you had no culpability in what happened. This way, if need be, everything could be blamed on her.”

  Conrad sat there silent, staring at the blank screen.

  “Are you okay?”

  Conrad said nothing.

  “You do know who that was, don’t you?”

  Still he was silent, staring at the screen, seeing the face even though it wasn’t there.

  “Conrad,” Gabriel said, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, “that was your mother.”

  Chapter 37

  After Anthony Bruno stopped the car, he turned to Denise in the backseat and said, “Are you sure you don’t want us to go in with you?”

  Unclipping her seatbelt, Denise shook her head. As she opened her door, started to slide out, Jess said her name. She looked up at her sister in the passenger seat, her sister who was now reaching a hand out to her.

  “It’ll be okay,” Jess said.

  When Denise got out of the car and shut the door, she needed to stand there a moment to stare up at the house. She had called it home for the past eleven years, had existed and slept inside its walls and under its roof, but now 58 Orchid Lane was a stranger’s house.

  She hurried up the walkway. She let herself in the front door and closed it behind her. Then she just stood there, sobbing quietly, not wanting to move.

  But she had to move.

  Anthony said they would be coming soon. Hunters, Special Police, someone would be coming here to raid the house, look through every drawer, inside every closet, maybe even hammer holes in the walls. Because Conrad was apparently more than just a Hunter, because he was apparently involved in things he shouldn’t have been, these men would soon be coming here to find evidence against him. And because Denise was Conrad’s wife, she had fallen under the umbrella of his guilt.

  She started with the upstairs. She went through Kyle’s room first. His toys were everywhere. She wasn’t sure what to take. Some clothes, yes, some pictures, sure, but there was just so much. And besides, she didn’t even know whether she would ever see her son again.

  Earlier today she visited him at Psyche—it was something Anthony had been able to set up for her, as usually parents of the offending youths were restricted—but she had only been granted five minutes. And for those five minutes she hadn’t even been able to touch her son. A glass partition had divided them, and they had been forced to talk through a telephone, their voices traveling through a cord while they stared at each other. Kyle saying how he was sorry and scared and wanted to come home. Denise wanting to tell him that everything would be okay, that none of it was his fault, but finding that the words wouldn’t come.

  Five minutes, that was all she had been granted, and then Kyle was taken away, back to his room, and she was ushered out of the Meeting Room—that’s what they actually called it, the Meeting Room—to find Anthony and Jess waiting in the lobby.

  By that time Anthony had received the phone call, the helpful tip, which had brought her here now, to the house that wasn’t hers anymore, to the room of a son she may never see again.

  Time was running out, so she only collected a few of Kyle’s things. Next she went to the master bedroom, grabbed a few of her clothes. Then she hurried downstairs, dropped the things on the floor, continued toward the kitchen, opened the basement door, and started down the steps.

  Thirty seconds later she was back, the folder in her hands, taking it straight to the first floor bathroom. She knelt beside the toilet. She withdrew a page, withdrew another, and crumpled them up into a ball. She dropped them in the water. One after another, she crumpled them up and dropped them in, until there was just enough that the toilet wouldn’t clog.

  She flushed her crimes away.

  Norman sat in a chair, his wrists clasped behind his back. He could see nothing but darkness. A bag was over his head. A bag had been over his head for some time now. It was only taken off when he heard a door open, footsteps, and then a familiar voice asking him how he was doing.

  Philip stood before him. “Well, Captain?”

  Norman said nothing.

  “You got pretty far, I’ll admit. Much farther than I would have given you credit for. Unfortunately, you didn’t get far enough.”

  Philip’s hands were behind his back. When he brought them out, he was holding a broadsword.

  “Recognize this? You should. After all, it’s yours.” Holding the broadsword up to his own face, inspecting the sharpness of the blade. “When was the last time you killed a zombie with this thing? It has to have been years. Maybe even decades. Do you even remember what it’s like to kill a zombie?”

  Norman stared back at him.

  Dropping the broadsword to his side, Philip said, “Where are my manners? I forgot to ask what you think of the new headquarters. You did see it when they brought you back into the city, didn’t you?”

  Norman didn’t answer.

  Philip held the sword up again, this time so its tip was less than an inch from Norman’s nose.

  “Surprisingly enough, nobody seemed to mind when I announced this would be the new headquarters. Everybody just cleared out. Now that is power, Captain. That is control.”

  Norman said, “Would you just get on with it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If you’re going to expire me, expire me. Don’t force me to listen to your bullshit.”

  Philip glared down at him for only a moment before smiling. “You know, Captain, I always liked you. I sometimes thought you could have been better at your job, but you were never terrible.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “But one thing I never understood, one thing that always bugged me, was why you kept Conrad in charge.”

/>   Staring straight back at Philip, Norman said, “I kept Conrad in charge because he was the best.”

  The tip of the broadsword appeared in front of Norman’s face again.

  “Wrong answer,” Philip said.

  “It’s true.”

  The tip touched his nose, took off a piece of flesh.

  “He will always be better than you.”

  The tip sliced across his forehead.

  “No matter how hard you try, Conrad will always be the best.”

  The tip was lowered in front of Norman’s left eye but didn’t move. It just stayed there, less than an inch from his black pupil. Finally it was taken away.

  “I’m not going to play your games, Captain. I want to know where Conrad is, and I want to know where he is right now.”

  “Is this it then? Is this the part where you torture me for information?”

  “I already have all the information I need. I’ve found people willing to talk. They’ve told me about Living Intelligence. They’ve told me about these Pandoras. They’ve told me what they do, what they’re capable of, and don’t worry, I will make sure they are all destroyed. And these people? Their existences were spared. Granted, they are now missing a body part or two, but at least they still exist.”

  Pointing the tip of the blade at Norman’s face again, Phillip said, “Your wife is gone. You never had any children. You have nothing important to you except your own existence.”

  “Who says my own existence is even important to me anymore?”

  “I want Conrad.”

  “I have no idea where he is.”

  “I think you do.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Unlike you, Conrad still has his wife and son. I wonder if I were to take them away, hold them hostage, would he come for them?”

  Philip held the broadsword up to his own face again, inspecting the tip that was marked with Norman’s decayed flesh.

  “I know he’s back in Olympus, Captain. I got word earlier that he returned to the facility. But the strangest thing happened when my men went to pick him up. They were attacked. They were expired. Now you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”