Zombies-More Recent Dead

by Paula Guran (ed)

  The girl dropped the last few feet and landed next to me. After a moment she threw her arms around my waist; I reached around her and drew her close, feeling her shake as she sobbed silently. “It’s all right,” I said quietly, and after a few minutes she stepped back, leaving a trail of snot and tears on my oilskin.

  She looked from side to side, over her shoulder and then back at me. “Thank you,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” I said again. She was dressed in dark blue jeans that showed little wear, a T-shirt, bright red fleece, a yellow plastic windbreaker over that and red sneakers covered in little stickers and doodads. There was some bark and leaf litter stuck to her, but her shoes were mostly clean: she hadn’t been in the woods for long. “How did you get here, honey?”

  “I was on the train,” she said. “I was going to live with my uncle and his wife and his kids.” She looked straight at me for a moment, then glanced away. “I was by myself. My grandma . . . ”

  “So what happened?”

  “I was . . . we were going around a bend and something bumped the train. I got knocked into a door and it just opened. I tried to wave at the train but it was too far away by the time I got up and my phone doesn’t work here.”

  “We’re a ways from the tracks.”

  “I got lost. I guess I should have stayed by the tracks, but I didn’t know how long it was going to be until the next train came, and I thought if I got higher up I could maybe get a signal on my phone. Then those—those people found me and when I knew what they were I went up the tallest tree I could find.” She paused for a breath. “I’d been up there since yesterday.”

  “Are you okay to walk?” I asked. “We need to get you someplace safe.”

  She nodded. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to take you to the Ranger station. They have a radio—they can let the next train know to stop for you.”

  “How far is it?”

  I shrugged. “A bit more than a day.”

  I handed her a handful of dry breakfast biscuits. She took a bite of one, chewed it slowly, swallowed, and said “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I can stock back up when we get to the station.”

  “No, I mean—thanks. For what you’re doing. I didn’t—I didn’t think there was anyone, I mean anyone not—you know, anyone not sick out here.” She was silent for a moment. “What—why are you out here? Are you—”

  “No,” I said. I ran my hand through my hair, held it out so she could see the gray starting to speckle the black. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “So do you—do you, like, hunt them or something?”

  I shook my head. “That was—I try not to do that. Unless I have to.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  I slung my rifle over my shoulder. “I’m a nurse.”

  At first they thought the homes were the vector. The affliction had spread all through them by the time anybody noticed it; the upticks in violence and dementia were noted but unremarked upon, hardly unusual in the overcrowded facilities, the larger pattern only visible if you saw what was happening with your own eyes. By that point nearly all the work was automated, done either by social robots or remote workers; few homes had more than the one Nurse of Record the law demanded.

  So they emptied the homes, setting up the tent cities in National Park campgrounds across the country. None of us who had worked in the homes had shown any symptoms, but that didn’t matter. Whether or not we were infected, or infectious, we were seen as tainted—and few of us could find many reasons to disagree with that judgment. So we were each given a choice: a comfortable quarantine, or life in the camps with our former patients. I never found out what any of the other nurses chose, but I can’t imagine many of those quarantine apartments were ever occupied.

  It wasn’t long after I had moved into my cabin that cases began showing up outside of the homes, and everyone over sixty became a presumed latent and carrier. There was never any word about bringing us back, though, just the intermittent shipments of food and medicine and the trains carrying more and more of the afflicted.

  It was maybe an hour before she started talking again: just small talk at first, like what my last name was and where I had come from, and telling me a little bit about her life. When she talked about herself I let her lead: I didn’t know yet whether her past had made her resilient or if she was just riding on shock and adrenaline, and I couldn’t afford to let her crash.

  We reached the tracks in good time and followed them east, toward the Ranger station; after an hour or so I stopped.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  I held a finger to my lips, turned around slowly. “Someone’s tracking us,” I said quietly.

  “Oh,” she said after a second. “Do you—is it one of the, the end-stagers, do you think?”

  I raised my rifle and began to turn slowly from left to right, watching for movement in the trees. “I don’t think so,” I said. “Whoever it is has been following us since you came down from the tree. End-stagers don’t have that kind of attention span.”

  Sophie put a hand on my arm: when I glanced at her I saw that she wasn’t looking at me, or in the direction my rifle was pointed, but just to the right. Her grip tightened as I turned.

  “Sophie,” I said, “did anyone else fall off that train?”

  For a long moment nobody said anything; then there was a rustling in the bushes, right where I was pointing my rifle. I kept my finger near the trigger but waited as I heard Sophie’s breathing get faster and faster. After a few seconds a woman stepped out from behind a tree, dressed in black pants and a jean jacket. Her black hair had hints of white in it, like mine, only hers was white at the roots.

  “Don’t,” Sophie said in a tiny voice.

  I took a breath, kept her in my sights. “Are you with her?” I asked.

  “Yes,” the woman said.

  “She’s my grandma,” Sophie said. “You’re right. She was on the train with me.” She pulled harder at my arm. “Please don’t shoot her.”

  “I won’t,” I said, though I didn’t lower my rifle. “What’s your name?”

  “Peggy. Perkins.” She raised her hands. “I just—I just wanted to make sure Sophie was all right.”

  “You shouldn’t have been on that train,” I said. I glanced at Sophie, then back at Peggy. “They found out, didn’t they?”

  Peggy nodded. “I couldn’t stop her,” she said. “They were holding me, and then she just jumped off the train. I didn’t want . . . ”

  There was silence for a moment as she trailed off. I turned to Sophie. “That was a very, very foolish thing to do,” I said. “Your grandma is . . . she can’t come with us.”

  “No,” Sophie said. “I couldn’t. I can’t just leave her alone.”

  “Your grandma is sick, Sophie,” I said. “She can’t get on the train with you, and they won’t let her into the Ranger station.”

  Sophie crossed her arms. “Then I don’t want to go,” she said. She scowled, her jaw quivering, and tears were appearing in the corners of her eyes.

  Peggy crouched down to look Sophie in the eyes. “Honey, you have to,” she said, then turned her head to look up at me. “But I’m not sick yet. I can come with you—as far as the Ranger station. To help keep her safe.”

  I took a breath. “What’s the last meal you ate on the train?”

  Peggy frowned. “I don’t—”

  “I need to know how far along you are. Do you remember what the last thing you ate on the train was?”

  She stood up and closed her eyes for a moment. “Ham and cheese sandwich,” she said. I watched Sophie’s expression, to see if she remembered the same thing. “Little crackers, but I didn’t eat them; Sophie had mine.”

  “All right,” I said. “Give me five words that start with R, fast as you can.”

  “Rainbow. Rutabaga. Rooster. Red . . . Red light.”

  I nodded, then reached out to tap her on the lips. She drew back but
made no other response. “Okay,” I said. “You’re not showing any definite symptoms yet. But this thing can go very, very quickly.”

  Peggy’s whole body relaxed as she let out a breath. “I promise, I—if you ever think I’m a danger to her, I’ll just . . . go away, I’ll go into the woods and never come back.”

  “If you turn,” I said, “I’ll put you down myself.”

  We walked for the rest of the day, mostly in silence. Sophie stayed close to Peggy; I felt an absurd jealousy as she held her grandmother’s hand and cast occasional glances up at her. We got back to the train tracks after another hour or so, and followed them westward until it began to get dark. I found a suitable tree to sleep in, and after a meager supper of jerky and biscuits, we made our way into its branches.

  When I woke up I was alone: Sophie wasn’t on her branch, though the bungee cord that had held her there lay on the ground. I loosened my own cord and carefully lowered myself to the ground. My knee locked as I touched: I took a half-dozen deep breaths, straightened my leg and looked around. There was no sign of either of them, nor any sound but the usual noise of the forest in the morning.

  “Sophie?” I called quietly. I started back to the tracks, just a few yards away, then stopped when I heard a noise coming from behind me.

  “It’s us,” Sophie called. She emerged from the brush with Peggy trailing behind. Sophie was holding her windbreaker in her hands. “We went to get berries. For breakfast.”

  “I suppose it wasn’t a very good idea,” Peggy said, “but I made sure she stayed close.”

  “No, it’s all right,” I said. “I was just . . . ” I reached up to rub my eyes. “Did you find any?”

  Sophie held the hood of her windbreaker up to me: it was about half full of tiny wild raspberries and blackberries. “Look,” she said.

  “We had a cottage when she was little,” Peggy said. She shrugged. “Back before . . . ”

  We divided the berries between us, and then the remaining breakfast biscuits; Sophie tucked her last one in the pocket of her windbreaker and then looked at her grandmother, who put on a smile.

  “Is there any way I can take some of that?” Peggy asked when I lifted my pack.

  I shook my head. “It’s all right.”

  “We might go faster.”

  “I don’t remember you having to wait for me yesterday,” I said.

  “No, I know. I just meant I’d like to, well, carry my weight.”

  I looked over at Sophie: she was watching us carefully, an expression of concern on her face. “Sure,” I said. I separated the zipsack from my backpack, reached inside to take out the box of cartridges, and then handed the sack to her. She swung it over one shoulder as we headed off, first going back to the train tracks and then following them to the Ranger station. I kept my hand on my rifle and watched the woods.

  “Hey, I see smoke,” Sophie said, pointing ahead of us. “Is that the station?”

  I could just see the station’s fence and gate, and beyond that a wisp of smoke rising up into the air. “We’re almost there,” I said. “They wouldn’t usually have a fire this time of year, though.”

  “Do you think something’s wrong?” Peggy asked.

  I held up my hand, then reached into my jacket pocket for my glasses. Once I had them on I could see that the gate across the tracks was open.

  “Get off the tracks,” I said, looking back at them. “Come on, now.”

  “Is there a train coming?” Peggy asked as she stepped carefully over the rail. “Don’t they blow a, you know, make a noise? So you know they’re coming?”

  “Yeah, they do,” I said. “But maybe . . . ” I waited for a minute, glancing back and forth between the station and the woods. Suddenly my pack felt very, very heavy.

  “What are we going to do?” Sophie asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t understand—they wouldn’t open the gate except to let a train through, but that’s not long enough for . . . ” I turned to look at Peggy and Sophie. “You said your train stopped when they threw you off. How long?”

  “I don’t know,” Peggy said, frowning. “Maybe ten, fifteen minutes.”

  “Which way was it going?”

  “To San Diego,” she said. “Why does it matter?”

  “I think somebody else got on that train when you got off,” I said. I lifted my glasses and rubbed my eyes. “Not on the train, but hanging onto the outside. They must have seen that the trains could get through the fence.”

  “So what happened to the Rangers?” Sophie asked. “Do you think they’re all . . . ?”

  “I don’t know. I guess they might not bother closing the gate if the station was already compromised . . . ” I took a breath, folded my glasses and put them back in my jacket pocket. “We have to get to their radio so that we can tell someone about Sophie, get her out of here.”

  “Couldn’t we just stay here, wait for the next train?” Peggy asked. “I’m sure if you explained . . . ”

  I shook my head. “The trains that stop here don’t let people on,” I said. “You’re right about one thing, though. You’re staying here, but she has to come with me.”

  “No,” Sophie said. She squeezed Peggy’s hand in hers. “I, I’ll come. I’m not scared, but Grandma has to come too.”

  “I’m fine,” Peggy said. “That’s just, my mind is fine. A whistle, the word I was looking for is whistle. There, you see? You just forget things sometimes, at my age. Doesn’t that ever happen to you?”

  “What did we have for breakfast, Peggy?” I asked.

  “Berries,” she said.

  “What kind of berries?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It was . . . well, summer berries. What you pick in the summer, in brambles with, with prickers.” She looked away and then back at me: her face was red, her eyes glistening.

  “There’s a camp just a few hours that way,” I said, pointing the way we had come and off to the left. “You’ll be all right there, and I’ll check on you when I can.”

  “No,” Peggy said. “I’m not going. Not until she’s safe.”

  For a moment I looked at the two of them standing together, then shrugged. “Fine,” I said. I slid open the bolt of my rifle, making sure there was a cartridge in the chamber. “Let’s go, then, while we’ve still got some light.”

  “Should we wait till morning?” Peggy asked.

  I shook my head. I had seen too many shapes moving in the bushes, heard too many footsteps and rustling branches. I chewed my lip for a moment, guessing at the distance between the gate and the station—a hundred yards, maybe? “Let’s get through that gate as fast as we can—I don’t want to get caught in a choke point.”

  “I haven’t seen any—”

  “They’re there,” I said, trying to keep my voice too low for Sophie to hear. “Maybe a lot of them.”

  As we neared the gate I fought the urge to run: I could hear the end-stagers in the woods around us, feel their eyes on us as we passed through the narrow space. The fence around the Ranger compound was solid steel, with razor wire along the top to keep end-stagers from climbing over it. The open gate, just wide enough for a train to pass through, let us see glimpses of the other side but concealed much more. I slowed my pace as we reached the gate, letting my finger curl around the trigger of my rifle.

  Sophie reached the gate and broke into a trot as she passed through, moving out of view. I caught up with her just as she ran into a man in dark clothes who had been moving in front of the gate on the other side. For a moment I thought he might be a Ranger, until I saw his white hair; he turned toward me and opened his mouth to reveal two rows of teeth, like a shark’s, perfectly white and gleaming.

  I raised the barrel of my rifle, getting ready to shoot and run—the sound of the shot would surely bring all the other end-stagers from the woods—but before I could fire Sophie reached into the pocket of her windbreaker, pulled out the biscuit she had saved from that morning, and held it out to the man.

  Fo
r a moment he just looked at her, his double teeth grinning obscenely; then he took the biscuit and began to chew it carefully, barely able to get it in his mouth. I stood there, watching as he chewed contentedly on the biscuit, and I saw that he was wearing dentures over his own teeth, which were sliding in and out of his mouth each time he moved his jaw.

  After a few moments, Peggy tugged on my sleeve and led me away. The cabin was about fifty yards off the tracks, the firewatch tower a short distance beyond that. Once we had passed the chewing end-stager we broke into a run, crossing the distance between the tracks and the cabin as quickly as we could.

  The outside of the cabin was not much different than it had been before it was repurposed—there was not much you could do to make a wall of stacked logs more defensible—but the windows and doors had been replaced with shatterproof Plexiglas and steel, the wood-shingle roof long gone in favor of aluminum. I used my momentum to launch myself up onto the cement platform that stood before the door, the only reminder of the screened porch that had once covered the whole front of the building. Peggy hesitated as she neared it and stumbled; Sophie slowed to help her, the two of them awkwardly levering themselves up onto the platform with their hands.

  “Stay close,” I said. “We’re just going to find the radio and get out.”

  “Don’t you know where it is?” Sophie asked.

  “I’ve never been inside,” I said. I took a step back, raised my rifle and waved Peggy forward. “Push it open, then step away.”

  “What if it’s locked?” Peggy said.

  “Then we knock very politely and ask the Rangers to let us in,” I said, glancing back at the gate.

  Sophie grabbed my arm as her grandmother stepped past us, putting a hand on the door handle and turning it tentatively. Peggy leaned into the heavy door, pushing it with her shoulder, and as she did I moved my sights off her and onto the opening doorway. Once she had it fully open I stepped in and then waved the others in after me. When they were both inside, Peggy released the door and it swung back, slamming shut with a heavy thud that made me wince.

  The door led into a small foyer that opened into a larger room to the left. I stepped into the room and swung my rifle at the other three corners. Fading light from the window showed a brown leather couch, much-patched with silver duct tape, facing a fireplace on the far wall that held some smoldering logs: in front of it was a wagon-wheel coffee table, its glass top lying in shards on the floor all around, and an eyeless moose head hung on the wall above.