Dread Nation

by Justina Ireland

  There’s more folks moving into the nice part of town, but we haven’t gotten any new Negroes for the patrols. Something just doesn’t add up.

  Maybe it’s time to take a little trip.

  I think about it all that night and the next. I think about the other side of town as I push aside a girl to get my breakfast, a dark feeling welling up in my middle when she starts crying, just as hungry and desperate as the rest of us. I think about it as I watch a small pod of decrepit shamblers attempt to climb the wall, their hands digging uselessly into the dirt, my blade flashing in the sun as I slide down the exterior of the wall to take off their heads.

  I keep thinking about the other side of town until I can’t stand it no more, kicking off my covers in the warm heat of the night. No more wallowing. It’s high time I find my friends and get an idea of what’s going on in this other side of town. There’s an itch in my brain, a thought that needs to be scratched. But more than that, I need food. My stomach growls so loudly that I cannot stand it, and next to me Ida is no better off, just as awake and miserable as me.

  “I’m going to find some grub,” I whisper to her over the soft snores of the girls around us.

  Ida props herself up on her elbow. “It isn’t safe, Jane.”

  “We’re slowly starving to death, Ida. We won’t survive long on what we’re getting. We can either die peacefully or survive by any means necessary.”

  Ida purses her lips in the near dark before nodding. “Be careful,” she warns.

  I climb to my feet and grab my boots. Food and some answers—one or the other would be fine, but I’m greedy, so I’m hoping for both.

  I walk out on the roof and look for a legitimate way down this time. There’s a small overhang off the western edge covering the boardwalk, and I’m thinking that if I can land on it then I can ease myself to the ground from there and make my way to the other side of town. The only problem is that the overhang is almost directly across from the sheriff’s office, so there’s a chance I’ll be seen if they’re looking. It’s not a risk I would take lightly.

  I debate going back to bed, or trying something different once I’ve been able to make a proper plan. But then my stomach growls, so loud that I’m sure they heard it all the way back in Baltimore.

  I ain’t waiting for an opportunity. I’m making one.

  I walk to the edge of the roof, dangling my feet off it and easing forward until I can jump. My landing is too loud, and I throw myself flat on the overhang, breath held, waiting for someone to yell up at me. After a span of frantic heartbeats and slow breaths I realize no one is coming for me, so I lower myself the rest of the way off of the overhang and take off at a sprint away from the buildings.

  It’s dark, and I trip often. There ain’t much light to see by, but the rich side of town glitters like a jewel in dung. It doesn’t take me long to get there, in my haste; once I get close to the circle of light cast by the bright lamps that line the road I can maneuver more quickly, using the shadows as my cover. That’s when I realize there’s a strange buzzing, like cicadas. At first I wonder why the bugs would be active this late at night, but then I realize it ain’t cicadas. The sound is coming from the streetlamps themselves. Must be the electricity coursing through them.

  I have no idea where the Spencers might live, but of the thirty or so houses in this part of town, not many of them appear to be filled at this point; there are only a few on the street with lights on.

  Peeping in windows ain’t ladylike, but it helps me to quickly assess who lives in what houses. The preacher sits in the study of one, reading some book, and I quickly duck away.

  I’ve soon looked in all the windows of the houses with lights on, and none of the folks I see are the Spencers or Katherine. But like Ida said, they’re definitely quality. I recognize a couple of the folks from Mayor Carr’s dinner party. It looks like his diabolical scheme is proceeding according to plan.

  If Katherine and Lily ain’t to be seen, that leaves the houses that ain’t lit up. So, like any desperate type, I start breaking into them.

  The first house is completely empty, still waiting for a family to move in; the second contains furniture, but no sign of people. The third, though, has pictures on the walls, ones I recognize from the night Jackson, Katherine, and I snuck into the Spencers’ homestead. I’m in the right house.

  The click of a gun’s hammer cocking back ain’t good news, though.

  I put my hands up. “Mr. Spencer, we’ve never met, but my name is Jane McKeene.” I turn around slowly. Only the rifle ain’t held by Mr. Spencer.

  It’s Lily pointing the rifle at my face.

  “Jane McKeene,” she says, the barrel wavering just a little. The electric lamps from outside cast enough light that I can see her clearly. She wears a sleep shirt and her hair is piled on top of her head. She’s skinnier than I remember, but other than that she looks fine. “You better tell me why you’re here and my brother ain’t.”

  I smile despite myself. Now, here’s the thing about Lily. She’s a good girl. Sweet as can be. But there’s only one thing she cares about, and that’s Jackson. You ain’t never seen a brother and sister dote upon each other the way Lily and Jackson do. But that’s where I have a problem. Even though I had nothing but love for Lily while Jackson and I went together, she had nothing but an abiding rage for me. There’s not a lot of love for the girl who steals your brother away in a world where family is so fragile, where people lose each other daily. I understood it, even if I didn’t much care for her attitude.

  After Jackson and I had parted ways, I think she’d developed a bit of a grudging respect for me. But that ain’t going to matter if she thinks Jackson is in trouble and I had something to do with it. Which is why there is no way in any of the seven hells that I’m going to tell her that her brother’s likely turned shambler, especially not when she’s pointing a rifle right at my face.

  “They got him with the work detail,” I say. It’s the hardest fib I ever told. “Mind putting the rifle down?”

  She does, her reluctance visible. “My brother know they got us living with shamblers over here?”

  “What are you talking about?” I shake my head. “Wait—start at the beginning. How did you and the Spencers end up here?”

  Lily props the rifle on her shoulder and sighs, a sound that is far too grown-up for her small frame. “The Spencers’ crops didn’t do so good last year, so Mr. Spencer was having trouble paying the mortgage in Baltimore County. He went to Mayor Carr to ask the man for a loan, and you know what Jackson says about borrowing money from rich people.”

  “‘Borrow a dollar, pay with your soul,’” I say. It was how Jackson got locals to trust him instead of the banks, even though his rates were straight usury as well.

  Lily nods. “It so happened that Mr. Spencer couldn’t pay when the mayor’s men came to collect. So the mayor gave him a choice: he and his family could leave the county on their own, or go west to this new settlement. You can guess which one Mr. Spencer picked. Before I could even get a note to my brother, we was on the train here.”

  “So, the Spencers brought you here voluntarily. That must have been tough for you.”

  Lily shrugs. “It’s been mostly okay. A few of the families came here because they ain’t got a lot of sense. They talk a lot about how the Negro should be serving white folks, that we needed to reinstate that ‘natural order’ the pastor is always going on about. That’s why everyone is mad right now. The drovers they brought here to oversee the Negro patrols and fortify the border think the Negroes in your part of town should be taking all the risk to herd the dead, not them. Of course, Miss Katherine says everyone is right to be concerned, that this place ain’t safe, no matter what kind of precautions we take.”

  “Kate is here?”

  “Yeah, she lives next door. She’s the one that’s got people to talking about safety and such. She’s so pretty and smart! She’s brilliant at smiling and saying a few words that gets everyone to think
ing the way she does without them even knowing it. I want to be like her when I grow up.”

  I scowl. “Figures, I’m starving and she’s over here having tea parties and pontificating.”

  “Anyway, Pastor Snyder says that the Lord will deliver us from hardship, but Miss Katherine says it’s all a lie, and after what I seen . . . I’m scared, Jane. I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”

  “Well, I’ve been out on the walls for a week now, and I don’t want to make you feel any worse, but I’ve seen one too many fresh shamblers to feel like these folks have the protections of Summerland figured out.”

  “It ain’t the walls or border patrols that concern me.”

  I blink. “What are you scared of, then?”

  She sighs heavily. “Right. Okay. Let me get my boots, and I’ll show you.”

  She disappears and comes back carrying the rifle awkwardly and a pair of boots. She hands me the gun. “Just for a minute. That’s mine.”

  “Where’d you get it from?”

  She pulls the boots on. “I won it fair and square from the Elkton boys up the street. I got a pair of boots out of it as well. You never seen a couple of stupider boys.”

  I grin. I always did like Lily.

  “But it’s how I won it that caused this whole problem I’ve got,” she continues. “Come on.”

  We make our way outside, Lily leading the way. We’ve walked a little ways before it occurs to me to ask, “Ain’t you scared to be out this late by yourself? What will the Spencers say?”

  Lily snorts. “Nothing. Things’ve gone straight to hell since we got here.” She gives me a quick look. “Don’t you dare tell my brother I swore.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  “Anyway, soon after we arrived, things kind of fell apart. Mr. Spencer’s been hitting the whiskey pretty hard and meeting in secret with folks who want to get rid of the sheriff; Mrs. Spencer’s fallen into the laudanum.”

  “What about the little ones?”

  “The baby got the colic and passed right after we got here. It’s just me and Thomas right now. We’re getting by, barely.”

  Her voice is heavy with emotion, and I realize that I ain’t the only one who’s had a hell of a time here in Summerland. “But . . . what about the other families? Are they happy with the electric lights, and the gourmet meals, these big houses?”

  “Some of them are, sure. But if people feel a bit safer here than they did in Baltimore, it’s only because they don’t know what I know. This whole town’s got a rotten soul, Jane. Everything is built up on a house of cards that’s gonna come crashing down sooner or later.”

  “What are you on about, Lily?”

  “That’s what I’m about to show you.”

  We stop in front of an unmarked building that looks rather like the tinkerer’s lab. A sign on the door reads “DANGER: ELECTRIC—Keep Out!” There’s a picture of a lightning bolt through the sign. I frown. “We’re going in here?”

  “I ain’t,” Lily says, a tremor in her voice. “The Elkton boys told me this place was haunted, that they heard strange noises coming from it at night. That’s how I won my rifle—I went in on a double-dog dare. I ain’t never going down there again if I can help it. But if you want answers, that’s where they are.”

  Before I can tell Lily thank you she’s heading back toward her house, head down, gait determined. For the first time in my life I have a real regret. I should’ve told her about Jackson.

  Well, there’ll be time enough for sorrys later. I hope.

  Auntie Aggie worries about you, too. It’s a cruel world, with cruel people. I hope you haven’t run afoul of too many of them. This world is a place that can eat a girl alive, even smart ones like you.

  Chapter 26

  In Which I Make a Terrible Mistake

  The building isn’t locked, and the door swings out on silent hinges. My heart pounds in my chest, and there is a part of me, the cowardly, yellow part, that urges me to turn around and scamper on back to bed. But there was too much nonsense in Lily’s words, and my brain hates a mystery the way dogs hate cats, so before I can talk myself out of it I’m descending the stairs.

  There ain’t enough light to see properly, but I make my way, hands grazing the walls on either side of me to keep steady. The stairs ain’t dirt like in Mr. Gideon’s laboratory, they’re wood, but everything else reminds me of my first day here. There ain’t no electric lights, just good old kerosene lanterns set into a nook here and there, and I grab one to make my passage easier. At this point my fear of getting caught is a faraway thing, I’m more keen on solving the mystery of the angry townsfolk than anything else.

  The stairs empty into a narrow hallway, and the scent of something powerful rotten hits me. I bury my face in the crook of my arm, the stink of me preferable to the stink of whatever’s down here. I’m dog-tired and still too hungry to think straight, so it takes me a long moment before I realize exactly what it is I’m smelling, and the moment I do, that’s when I hear the noises.

  Shamblers.

  I follow the scent of the dead, the sounds of the moans getting louder, and move cautiously down the tunnel. It ends in a large antechamber, nearly the size of a concert hall. I ain’t sure who or what dug out such a large space, but it must’ve been a pretty impressive undertaking. The ceiling extends far above my head, the light cast down by a cluster of those same electric lamps, conspicuous in their constant glow. But I ain’t nearly half as distracted by the lights as I am the sight that meets my eyes.

  Before me is a giant, rolling shambler cage. And in the cage: at least fifty shamblers, running toward an old Negro man sitting in a chair, dozing, the shamblers turning the cage like a giant, metal wheel.

  I ain’t even got time for my normal fear response to rise up. I just watch the shamblers turning the entire mess in a circle, my brain trying to make sense of it all. I’ve heard lots of people suppose that shamblers could be useful for labor and such. I read the story of a man who hitched his plow to a team of shamblers and tried to use them to till his field. The problem was that they took off after his boy, catching the kid and eating him and a good part of the rest of his family, before the entire clan set out for the local municipality and turned most of them as well. This was the problem with shamblers: one little slip and everyone you knew was a ravenous monster. It didn’t make much sense to do anything but put them down.

  “Isn’t it terrifying?”

  I startle at the voice, the fear I couldn’t feel at the sight of the shamblers finally making my heart jump painfully. Mr. Gideon walks out of the shadows, wiping his spectacles on a corner of his untucked shirt. He’s unshaven, and the scruff of beard shadowing his cheeks makes him look tired and just a bit dangerous. It’s an appealing look in a man. But I squash those soft feelings like bugs. I still ain’t got the full measure of him, and if he thinks he’s going to try something I need to be ready for it.

  “Relax, Miss McKeene. I’m not the one you need to fear.”

  “Funny how the ones that turn on you always say something like that.”

  A smile ghosts across his lips before disappearing. “True enough. Here, let me show you how this works.”

  “What makes you think I care?”

  He laughs a little. “You’re smart. Your brain has been putting facts together since you got here, whether you realize it or not. And since you’re here, you might as well learn every single last one of this town’s terrible secrets.”

  He’s right. A strong curiosity has always been one of my flaws. I nod, and my stomach chooses that moment to rumble loudly. My face heats and Mr. Gideon’s eyes soften. “I do believe I may have some canned peaches somewhere down here as well. Follow me.”

  He walks toward the back of the room, past the giant shambler wheel. The dead in the cage stop walking for a moment, their yellow eyes fixating on us instead. But the cage has enough momentum that the few who are distracted lose their balance and fall down, their compatriots trampling th
em as the whole contraption keeps turning. One of the shamblers gets caught underfoot the wrong way, and its head is crushed by the others. It doesn’t move after that, the body flopping at the bottom of the wheel while the whole thing keeps turning. I’m sure it’s all some kind of metaphor, but I’m too tired and hungry to figure out what for. The rest of the fallen shamblers eventually regain their footing, and they all turn their attention back to the old man sleeping in the chair.

  I follow Mr. Gideon down another hallway for quite some time, the sound of our breathing loud in the enclosed space. This hallway is lit by electric lights, and I take the time to watch Mr. Gideon. He walks stiffly, but his limp is gone.

  “What happened to your limp? Was it an affectation, or the real thing?”

  Mr. Gideon laughs. “You don’t mince words much, do you?”

  “I find that my lot in life has less to do with what I say than who I am,” I answer.

  He nods and looses a long sigh. “I can see how that would be true. Well, I have a mechanical brace for my leg. It helps me walk, but it’s tiresome, so I don’t wear it all of the time. Plus, the limp makes the sheriff think I’m weak, and to speak truthfully, I prefer him underestimating me.”

  “You don’t like him much, either, huh?”

  “The man is a monster. And that apple didn’t tumble far from the tree.” I’m surprised by the vehemence in his voice. We fall silent after that.

  The hallway eventually ends, and I’m surprised to find us back in Mr. Gideon’s lab. “These tunnels are one giant rabbit warren,” I murmur.