Dead City

by Sean Platt

  Not that Bobby was likely to know anything. He was a hunter. What would he know about Hemisphere? He’d barely known the company’s basics when they’d talked at the Bivouac, both on and off the record. And they’d talked a lot. Something about being surrounded all night by vast lands populated by hungry monsters loosened lips.

  But there was intuition again, suggesting she call him anyway.

  Alice picked up her phone and hit Bobby’s number.

  To her surprise, he picked up, practically screaming.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  EXTRACTION

  BUT IT WASN’T BOBBY. IT was someone else.

  “Hello? Hello?” The voice was demanding, as if Alice had committed an atrocity with her call. Out of breath. Manic or in a panic; one of the two.

  Alice could hear Bobby in the background. There was a mechanical thrumming, very loud. The phone had some sort of noise cancellation, but it was nowhere near adequate.

  “Goddammit, Cam, get off the phone and — ”

  There was the rapid popping of gunshots. Noise cancellation (or possibly maxing out of the microphone) dulled the sharpest reports, but Alice knew guns when she heard them.

  “It’s your phone, Bobby!” said the man, Cam, closer by.

  “DROP IT, AND GET THAT ONE NEAR THE — ”

  Someone yelled. It was a desperate, horrifying kind of cry. The thrumming (a helicopter, Alice decided) changed pitch.

  “How about some warning up there?” Bobby’s voice shouted.

  Cam must have lurched. Alice heard things shift and roll, as if the space they were in had been turned on end. She heard a muffled thwump then a crack as the phone must have run into something hard. There was a burst of interference, then Cam’s voice was back.

  “Are you still there? Hello? Hello!”

  “Cam put down the fucking phone, and shoot!”

  More gunshots. More chaos. If they were in a helicopter or near one, it sounded like it was trying to take off. Trying and failing.

  “Who is this? Our location is — ”

  Another lurch. Another crack. This time, the phone must have hit the ground. Alice heard the thing slide across the deck — a low, teeth-rattling drag. Then Cam was snatching it back up, yammering about hellos and locations and how they were in deep-shit trouble. He only shut up when something hit something else, hard. One man grunted, probably Cam, probably punched or shoved.

  More evenly, just loud enough to be heard over the rotors, Alice heard Bobby say, “Can I trust you to point this and fire? Or do I have to strap you down like a child?”

  “Jesus, Bobby! They can’t do that! You said they can’t do that!” And then Alice, in Cam’s pleading voice, could almost hear the tell-me-it’ll-be-all-right suffix the man wanted to add: You promised me.

  Gunshots multiplied. Someone said, “There!” Then they multiplied more.

  The helicopter’s sounds changed again, and most of the chaos fell silent. Alice could hear muttering, possibly relieved, indistinct. Then the phone was back to being dragged. But this time, no one spoke into it.

  She heard Bobby say, “What?”

  “It’s yours,” said Cam’s voice, now calmer, still low on breath.

  “It’s mine?”

  “It was in your bag.”

  “Goddammit, Cam. You’re supposed to be a professional. You don’t make phone calls in the middle of—”

  “I told you. It rang.”

  Without any visual cues, Alice had to guess at what was going on. She could imagine Bobby frowning, sighing, any one of a full deck of annoyed or patronizing expressions. She had a strange impulse to hang up. She’d only placed a phone call; she’d had no idea what she’d been stepping into. But now Alice felt guilty, as foolish as this man Cam.

  “It’s still connected?”

  No response.

  Then Alice heard Bobby’s voice, full in the mic, the noise cancellation only moderately able to do its job. He didn’t sound nearly as out of breath as Cam had. He addressed her directly, apparently having consulted the thing’s now-surely-scratched-to-shit screen.

  “Alice?”

  “Bad time?”

  “You might say that. We were just ambushed.”

  “Ambushed? By whom?”

  “Deadheads.”

  “I thought you said they couldn’t — ”

  “They can’t. It was in Purgatory Valley. It’s a natural funnel. They just went down, and we walked right into them.”

  “I thought you didn’t go into Purgatory Valley.”

  “I don’t. We were tracking Golem.”

  “Did you find him?”

  Bobby paused for too long. It was a thoughtful pause, as if weighing more than the situation’s objective facts.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “What’s on your mind, Alice?”

  There was some static-filled chatter from behind Bobby. Possibly the pilot, assuming the helicopter had extracted them from the ambush as she imagined. Telling them how far it was back to the DCC base, maybe.

  “Call me when you’re settled.”

  “I’m fine.”

  But for some reason, Alice could only picture Bobby as he’d been in her deleted scenes, telling the story about his mother. His obsession with Golem was unhealthy. Golem was a random deadhead, same as Moby Dick was only a whale. And yet Bobby had heaped his carefully hidden pain atop the zombie’s shoulders, as if he’d caused every wrong in Bobby’s life.

  “It’s hard for me to talk to you when I know you were just attacked.”

  The seriousness was already fading. Alice could hear Public Bobby entering his voice. The man with the stubble and hypnotizing blue eyes, always quick with a handsome joke.

  “Haven’t you seen my show? I’m always ‘just attacked.’”

  Alice shifted on her couch. She hadn’t been kidding. Bobby could grant permission for her casual inquiry, but that wouldn’t stop it from feeling awkward. It was a bit like calling someone during a funeral by mistake then being told, No, no, it’s fine. What’s up?

  She went for middle ground. “What was happening with the ’copter?”

  “They were climbing on it. It was quite the swarm. We could take off once most were cleared, but there were some on the tail, too. I didn’t really want to shoot at them back there once we were airborne.”

  “Oh.”

  “Looks like you called a few times.”

  “I can call back.”

  Still projecting his voice over the rotors, Bobby said, “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then: “What were you calling for?”

  “Have you ever heard of a drug called BioFuse?”

  “No.”

  “It was an early Hemisphere patent. One they discontinued. For treating Alzheimer’s disease.”

  “Maybe that’s why I don’t remember it.” Laugh. Pause. Then: “Sorry. No. I don’t know it. Why?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “Hmm. Was that all you needed?”

  “I was wondering about behavior. Deadhead behavior.”

  “I’m hardly the guy to ask. I just shoot them.”

  But that wasn’t true. Thanks to his peculiar obsession, Bobby had, perhaps unintentionally, ascribed all sorts of traits for the deadheads in Yosemite that even the people around him thought were ridiculous. Mostly they were empty receptacles waiting for his bullets, yes. But a few, like Golem, merited personality.

  “When you see them turn, how fast does it happen?”

  “I’m not Jane Goodall here, Alice. We’re allowed to take down the ones that come at us and leave the rest alone. I don’t study them, or watch and wait for them to turn.”

  “What’s your impression?”

  “Same as everyone’s. It happens over time. A few days for the worst of it.”

  “And they all seem to rage about three weeks after hitting their inflection points?”

  “Well, nobody comes here who’s not past the inflection point already. But I assume so.”
r />   “The deadheads there. Are they treated? With Necrophage?”

  Bobby laughed. “What would be the point?”

  “Maybe someone didn’t believe the doctors or the clarifiers. Tried to bring someone back.”

  “Nothing can drag someone from the inflection point back to the safe side, as far as I’ve heard.”

  “No, of course not.” But in the pause of a breath, Alice found herself thinking of Nicole. Let me know if you ever hear of something that will turn back the clock. “I just meant … ”

  “What did you mean?”

  Alice sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve got a feeling. A hunch.”

  “I heard that when Alice Frank gets hunches, people get busted.”

  “It’s just a sense I can’t shake, but I don’t know where to go next. It has something to do with Necrophage.”

  A new thought occurred to her, along with a sudden certainty that her fears were accurate and that Hemisphere had, indeed, somehow bugged her phones. But whatever.

  “Did it ever strike you as convenient that Hemisphere had this cure ready to go when Sherman Pope struck?”

  “If they had it ‘ready to go,’ it was kind of shitty to let Bakersfield happen before unveiling it.”

  “So it’s not too convenient.”

  “They crowdsourced the solution, Alice. They released all of their research publicly. They let everyone play. That feels pretty selfless to me, as far as big, bad companies go.”

  “But they kept the profits, when Necrophage was ready, all for themselves.”

  “Necrophage is free.”

  “Yes, but the designer versions. The ones that do more than halt the disease.”

  “So what? Let them charge for those. If I ever get bitten, I won’t need it. My chest is hairy enough.”

  “Is that something the designer versions do?”

  “I’m kidding. I don’t know what they do. Don’t care. I carry the base shit with me. I get bitten, I’ll start taking it then get my bolus the minute we get back. Why do I need all sorts of extra bullshit? I already take a vitamin every morning. Injecting shit with a Gadget doesn’t seem much different.”

  But the sense of a puzzle piece not quite fitting had settled into Alice’s mind. If anything, it was bothering her more. What was different between the formulations? What was missing here? And what, pray tell, was her anonymous tipster trying to say? Was it just another crackpot — or Hemisphere itself, fucking with the constant thorn in the company’s side?

  Alice thrummed her fingertips on the coffee table. Calling Bobby hadn’t made sense to begin with. She’d just been looking for something — anything — to break her stalemate while waiting for Ian, for nothing at all to occur. She should end the call. Maybe go back through his footage, if she needed something to do with the ever-popular web show host. Or wait for Bobby to come east, as he was due back soon. His house was in Aberdeen Valley, just like Alice’s, and for similar reasons. She’d wanted to be near Hemisphere’s headquarters to keep an eye on their comings and goings. But Bobby, for his image and his popular shows, just wanted to be in Dead City’s orbit, at the heart of all things undead.

  Obeying another of those troublesome hunches, Alice said, “Bobby, have you ever heard of August Maughan?”

  She expected a no. Or maybe a distant yes, in the way people recognized the name of an actor or politician. Maughan was far more of a cult figure than the always-in-the-spotlight Burgess, known mainly by only those truly interested in Hemisphere lore.

  Instead, Bobby surprised her.

  “I’m seeing him Friday,” he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  NOT ON THE MENU

  AFTER EATING PANCAKES, DANNY AND Jordache sat and drank coffee for hours — long enough that Jordache ordered more sausage. Not pancakes; sausage.

  On one level of Danny’s mind, the fact that she defaulted to meat more often than not reminded him that she wasn’t entirely healthy, that she was infected and always would be. But on his conscious level, the thought barely registered. Jordache was Jordache. She liked eating meat, and every once in a while she staggered a little. Very rarely — and it had become even less frequent since she’d been on PhageX — Jordache forgot things an uninfected person wouldn’t. But those quirks were all just parts of her, no different from the single mole on the left side of her neck. Danny could accept them. He already had, wholly and fully.

  They sat for a long time because despite their different social standings (Jordache remained poor; Danny’s cars and apartments had improved quite a lot lately), Danny thought he might love the woman across from him. And, if she’d admit it, maybe she liked him, too.

  But the main reason for sitting so long was cowardice.

  Finally, Jordache seemed to remember what he’d said earlier and called him on it.

  “Hey.” Her mouth and nose wrinkled thoughtfully — something Danny found irresistibly cute on the petite blonde. “You said you had something to tell me.”

  Danny squirmed. He’d prefer to keep drinking coffee and ordering sausage. Maybe, if they made it until nighttime, he could retire for the day without saying what he had to say.

  “I got a promotion.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really.” He folded his hands on the table. That had been a stupid thing to say. It hadn’t even been a joke. It had burned another five seconds and maybe tossed a rock to distract her, nothing else.

  “New car, though,” he said.

  “I saw that. And you’ve already filled it with crap.”

  “My offer still stands, you know.”

  “Danny, you’re not buying me a car. That’s just stupid, so don’t mention it again, okay?”

  “It’d be a loan. You could pay me back.” He paused. “If you wanted to.”

  “I don’t need your charity.”

  Sure she didn’t. She only lived in an armpit of a trailer park and rode the bus to work. Probably had to sit next to drooling guys — some twitchers, some just assholes — who kept accidentally brushing against her tits. Her job paid shit, and his paid far better than it should. He didn’t feel guilty about selling the extra stock he got using Ian’s access codes; Hemisphere had all it needed, and nobody was suffering. But sharing his take beyond just giving Jordache free designer Phage? Well, that would make everything that much more okay across the board, karmically speaking.

  “You need a car, Baby.”

  Danny paused. That last “baby” had felt as wrong on his lips as a left-behind bit of pancake. He wanted to take it back, but Jordache either wasn’t taking any of the obvious signs or he’d been deliberately friend-zoned. That felt unfair. A lot of guys just wanted to screw girls like Jordache (her ex certainly had), but Danny wanted more. Of course if there was screwing to be had as part of the package deal, he’d be happy to accept it.

  She didn’t stutter at his affectionate add-on, but Danny had already decided never to do that again. Some guys could get away with using pet names and terms of endearment, but Danny wasn’t one of them. He was a good salesman, for sure. But dating? That was different.

  “If I need one, I’ll get it on my own. And that’s that.”

  To soften the words, Jordache laid her hand over Danny’s. He let it sit there, fighting the urge to make a sarcastic comment and break the moment.

  Then her hand vanished, and he wanted it back.

  “So.” She lowered her voice and did another of those cute things she did: whispered artificially low, as if in conspiracy. “Where’s my drugs, mister?”

  Danny sighed. Jordache’s eyes, darkly lined like a cat’s, looked up.

  “You don’t have it,” she said.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But it’s true.”

  Another sigh.

  Jordache sat back, affecting a casual expression. It came off wrong. She was trying not to be impatient or angry or disappointed or anything else that might seem like blame laid on Danny, but she was also fighting addiction.
Not to the drug itself; PhageX, like any designer, was just Necrophage with enhancements added like mix-ins. She was only as addicted as any necrotic: enough that if she went for too long without what she needed, she’d start to slip until she got more, which was free and available everywhere in its base formulation. What he was seeing now was a kind of psychological addiction. PhageX definitely made her feel better than base Necrophage ever did. She’d grown too large for her old box and was trying not to feel horrible about a fear that she’d be returning soon.

  When she spoke next, Danny heard that mixture of emotion. She wouldn’t accuse him because that was unfair. But she’d been promised something that wasn’t being delivered.

  “You said you could get it. You said I wouldn’t have to go back.”

  Danny rushed to reply. “I can! And you won’t have to go back. I promise, okay?” He took her hand — another calculated, affectionate risk. “I just wasn’t able to get any yet. When I went back into the building, turns out Ian had just been through. If I went back in so soon, using his same access code to get more from the dispensary, it might look—”

  Jordache’s face registered disappointment. It hurt Danny to see. He’d been so eager to check in with Jordache that he’d rushed to call before verifying that he still had some PhageX in with the rest of his samples to tide her over until he could restock. He’d been so sure to hold some back for just such an emergency, but he’d come up empty. The small pack that Danny thought he already had was supposed to get Jordache through the next few days. After that, he would be able to hit the dispensary, and fill her medicine cabinet with enough high-end Phage to keep her happy for months. But that was then, and this was now.

  “It’s just a few days’ delay. I can get it Monday.”

  “Monday?” She looked uncertain. “You’re sure?”

  Danny squeezed the soft hand between his a bit harder. Her skin was chilly and refused to warm in his grip. The difference was subtle, but feeling it while watching Jordache worried hurt him.

  “Do you have enough to get you through?”

  Jordache gave a slow, tentative nod. “I think so. I think I have a few days. But just to Monday. You’re sure you can get in there then? On Monday?”