by A. M. Geever
Mario knew that Walter had disapproved, long before his so-called defection. Walter had always acted as if Mario had hoodwinked her, had coaxed her somewhere she had not wanted to go. He would never believe that she had joined him willingly, without hesitation, that doing otherwise would have been like deciding not to breathe. It was as if Walter was heaping his own guilt about what happened after onto him. It was probably easier than admitting that he had let her down, too.
What a mess he had made of everything, not least this request. Why would Walter do anything that implied it had been real? Whatever anyone thought, it had been real, but Walter would never acknowledge that. Mario even understood why.
“I’m sorry, forget it. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Mario pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway. As the door sighed shut behind him, he heard Walter say, “I’ll tell her, Mario. You have my word.”
16
Forty-eight hours later, Connor was still reeling.
As he and Miranda had walked to the Jesuit Residence after Mass, after reconciling to a degree greater than he ever dared to hope for, he asked, “What’s going on with Emily, Miri? Father Walter won’t tell me anything. All I get is the runaround.”
Miranda stopped. She looked thunderstruck.
“They haven’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
Frustration seemed to make the air around her body vibrate. “I can’t believe them!”
“What’s going on, Miri?” Connor demanded. “Is she a doser? Has she lost her mind?”
Miranda reached for his hand. “Emily’s fine, Connor, she’s fine, but there is something.” She was forcing herself to speak calmly, which only scared Connor more. “Let’s walk over to The Hut. You’ll probably want a drink.”
“Will you just tell me what’s wrong?”
“Emily’s fine,” she assured him. “It’s who she’s married to that’s…complicated.”
“Who the hell is she married to?”
Miranda had sighed. “She’s married to Mario Santorello.”
Connor shifted in his seat as he thought of Emily, his favorite cousin and only living relation. How could she have married Mario Santorello? To be fair, how could she have stayed married to him after he aligned himself with the City Council, effectively keeping the vaccine out of reach for most people? Considering all the havoc they had wrought, even Sonalto wasn’t in the same league. Sonalto’s screwup had been just that. Motivated by lust for profits and an always improving quarterly statement? Yes. Created zombies on purpose? No. Santorello and the City Council, on the other hand, created a whole new standard for greed.
Connor looked out the window at the gray concrete wall as they sped north on the Expressway toward Palo Alto. The scenery wasn’t what it used to be. He rode shotgun after Karen had insisted he take her seat. At first he thought she was matchmaking again but soon realized she did not want to be next to Miranda. The atmosphere in the Rover was poisonous; even the dog was subdued. They’d been late picking him up because of Karen’s shoes. Miranda had made her change them and Karen was furious. He couldn’t believe they were so angry at each other over shoes.
If I live to be a hundred, I still won’t understand women.
He studied Miranda’s profile as she drove. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of looking at her, even with her mouth twisted down in a frown. She had not wanted to accompany him since Emily’s husband would be there. Karen had told him that Miranda visited Emily only when her husband was not there, but Emily had spoken to Miranda at length earlier in the day, pleading and cajoling and eventually, begging, until Miranda finally—reluctantly—agreed.
The Rover slowed as they approached the Sand Hill Road exit. They were through the double gate in under a minute.
“Welcome to La-La Land,” Miranda muttered.
A Humvee convoy awaited them. One rode point, with two more flanking either side of the point vehicle a car length behind. This pattern was repeated inversely behind them with the Rover in the middle of the diamond-shaped formation. The road they traveled was secured in the same fashion as the Expressway: high concrete walls on either side of the blacktop topped with concertina wire, proximity alarms and sniper towers at regular intervals. Connor could hear the buzz of constant moaning, faint but ever present, beyond the high walls.
“This is quite a welcome,” Connor said. Miranda gave him a disgusted look, but he could tell it was not directed at him.
“When you’re rich enough and live in The Land of Make Believe, you can pay other people to deal with the unpleasantness of zombies.”
“Oh, don’t listen to her, Connor!” Karen piped up, leaning forward between them. “Miranda’s had a bug up her ass about Palo Alto since day one. I think it’s great! I just wish I could afford it.”
Miranda said, “It’s the most inherently unsafe place there is, including the wilderness.” Karen snorted with derision—she had obviously heard this all before—but Miranda was on a roll. “It’s filled with people who pretend there’s no such thing as zombies and never, ever leave.”
“What do you mean by that?” Connor asked.
Strains of “Hotel California” buzzed through his brain. Most people were resigned to a world of smaller horizons since the ZA, but the way Miranda said it, never leaving sounded sinister.
“Just what I said. They never, ever leave if they can help it. There’s no way you can see Emily anywhere else because she lives in the Happiest Concentration Camp on Earth,” Miranda said, scorn suffusing every syllable. “She was at the Agreement Day Gala the other night, but that’s it, and she had to get hammered to do it. She was just down the street but couldn’t bring herself to stop at SCU to see you! Everyone in Palo Alto is the same. This little convoy is the biggest dose of reality you’re going to get while we’re here, so enjoy it while it lasts.”
“That doesn’t sound like Emily,” Connor said.
“People change when the world falls apart.”
As they turned the corner, the convoy slowed and approached one of the biggest walls Connor had ever seen.
“How tall is this thing?”
“Forty feet, I think. It’s just the first one.” Miranda slowed the Rover to a halt and looked over to him as she opened the door. “Zombie Dog inspection.”
They got out of the Rover and waited. A two-story guard house sat next to the gate. It wasn’t an old house that had been converted, but a newer purpose-built structure. Dog handlers and the Watch Commander approached, and they were inspected by three different dogs.
The perimeter walls of Palo Alto were fifteen yards apart with miniature DMZs between. The area beyond the gates was fenced off. Warning signs were everywhere.
“DANGER!!! THIS AREA IS MINED - DO NOT PROCEED! VIOLATORS WILL BE SHOT!!!”
When they reached the third checkpoint, there was a twist to the routine they had gone through at the others. They were asked to surrender their weapons.
Karen began shrugging out of her shoulder holster.
“What are you doing?” Miranda demanded.
“They want our weapons, Miri. It’s not a big deal,” Karen answered. She gave Miranda a don’t-embarrass-me look that rivaled a fourteen-year-old mortified by her parents.
Connor watched, gobsmacked, as Karen handed over her gun, ammo, and machete to the young security officer in exchange for a claim ticket. He looked to Miranda, his shock so profound he could not wrap his mind around what he was seeing.
“Are they serious?”
“Yeah, but so am I.”
The guard stowed Karen’s weapons in a locker and then turned his attention to Miranda and Connor. “Ma’am, sir, I’m going to need your weapons.”
“You’re new, aren’t you?” Miranda asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I am.” The young man smiled. “I need you to surrender your weapons, if you don’t mind. Palo Alto is a weapons-free community.”
Miranda smiled at the young man. “Look, kid, I’m not
trying to give you a hard time, but I mind. I don’t surrender my weapons to anyone, and neither does he.” She motioned to Connor with a tilt of her head. “I saw you check the list, so you know we’re guests of the Santorellos. Why don’t you go in and get the Watch Commander on the line. Tell him Miranda Tucci’s being a pain in the ass again.”
“Uh, well, I can do that, of course,” he said, flustered. “I don’t think it will do any good, though. Everyone surrenders their weapon, ma’am, even Councilman Santorello.”
The dog handlers had left to conduct a perimeter sweep, presumably along a route that would preclude being blown to smithereens. There was no one in the immediate vicinity that the guard could appeal to. Connor saw the young man’s mental arithmetic plainly. He couldn’t just insist since they were guests of important people, but he couldn’t let them keep their weapons, either. With a sigh, he left for the guardhouse.
“What the fuck, Miri?” Connor said.
“Palo Alto is a weapons-free community,” Miranda mocked.
Connor could not believe what he was hearing. It was ridiculous. It was insane.
“No one is armed in there?”
“Connor, look, it’s not a big deal,” Karen interjected in a placating tone while shooting Miranda a dirty look. “Palo Alto has the best security in the Valley. There’s no way a zombie can get past it. It’s just not possible, so you don’t need to carry a weapon.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Connor,” Karen said. “I’ve been here tons of times and it’s really safe. Of course people have weapons in their houses! They just don’t carry them.”
For a moment, Connor was robbed of speech. Karen stood before him, explaining that people out and about without weapons was as normal as whatever the hell normal passed for anymore. He suddenly wondered what kind of shoes she had been wearing earlier.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been told ‘there’s no way a zombie can get in’ by some jackass who’s now a zombie?” he asked.
He might have said more, but the guard was returning. Connor saw the barest suggestion of a smile perk up the corners of Miranda’s mouth. She had known all along she would get her way.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” the young man began. He had the look of someone who’d been ripped up one side and down the other. “I didn’t realize you and members of your party are exempt from the weapons policy. I should have, though.”
“No worries, kid. I’m used to it,” Miranda replied, pushing off the Rover to stand straight.
The guard turned to Karen. “Would you like your weapons back, ma’am?”
Karen looked appalled. “God, no! Keep them. I don’t mind following the rules.”
“Let’s just go,” Miranda said.
They got back into the Rover. Delilah was practically prancing on the back seat having watched the heated conversations. She obviously felt she had missed out on something exciting.
Connor looked back at the guard while Miranda started the engine. He could tell the young man wanted to ask them something.
“Miri, see what he wants.”
She called over to the guard. “Hey, kid. What’s your name?”
He perked right up. “It’s John, ma’am.”
“So what do you want to know?”
John looked at her like he’d been caught out in a lie. “Uh, well, I was just wondering. Why won’t you surrender your weapons? Everyone I’ve seen is thrilled to not have to carry them.”
“Let me ask you something first. What’s the drill around here if a zombie gets in?”
“There’s never been a zombie in Palo Alto since the walls went up, ma’am.”
“Humor me.”
“Well, the first line of defense is the deterrent systems that keep zombies at least five miles away. We have dogs, firearms, flamethrowers, mines. There are a lot of options at our disposal.”
“And what if there’s more than one?”
“We can handle any number of hostiles, ma’am. We have the three walls.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Miranda allowed. “Just for the sake of argument, let’s say that a small group of zombies breaches the third wall. Then what?”
“Same as before. Security will neutralize the threat.”
“There are tens of thousands of zombies on this part of the Peninsula. For a small group to breach the third wall, almost all of them would be here,” Miranda said. “If you’ve got zombies inside, do you really think there will be any of the security team left out here to help those of you trapped inside?”
John’s brow furrowed. It seemed he had never thought of that. “Well…there’s still security in Palo Alto to protect the residents.”
“How much?”
“Fifty, at any given time.”
“And there’s what, three hundred, three hundred fifty people who haven’t seen a zombie in God knows how long? You’ve got a good ratio if all the guards survive, but that won’t happen. Never does. How well do you think people who’ve been living in there for a few years will react if there are zombies running around all of a sudden?”
“All they have to do is retreat to a secure location, ma’am. We’ll take care of it.”
“Well, John, it sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Miranda replied with a nod. “To answer your question, I won’t surrender my weapons because I wouldn’t count on hired security to choose saving me over saving themselves when push comes to shove. There’s not enough money on Earth to bring a person back from the dead. As a person, anyway.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but that’s what we’re paid to do. To protect these people,” he countered.
“You are, John, of course you are. Anyone who’s willing to die for some rich idiot who thinks their money allows them to farm out responsibility for their own safety is stupid in my book, and stupid people aren’t good at security.”
“I’m not stupid,” John said, his face flushing.
“I never said you were,” Miranda replied. “You seem like a smart kid. You’re the only one to ever ask me why I keep my weapons and I come here almost once a month, ever since this shithole opened.”
Connor struggled to contain his laughter. It wasn’t fair, setting the kid up against Miranda, but he had asked. Miranda would not be Miranda if she did not answer him honestly—even a little too honestly. Karen ‘harrumphed’ from the back seat.
“There’s no such thing as an impenetrable fortress,” Miranda said, her tone sympathetic. “It can take a very long time for the weaknesses to show, but they always do. Every impenetrable fortress turns out not to be. I don’t think you’re stupid, John. I expect you to be with the smart guys who get the fuck out of Dodge the day you realize you’ve got a full-blown clusterfuck on your hands. You take care now.”
Miranda nodded at the young man and drove the Rover through the final gate, leaving dun-colored dust swirling in its wake. Connor twisted in his seat to see John the Guard standing in place, staring after them as the gate closed behind the Rover.
“He looks like he can’t decide if you’re right or if you’re crazy, Miri.”
Miranda smirked. “If he’s smart, he’ll realize I’m both.”
17
If walking around the SCU campus made Connor feel like a time traveler, Palo Alto was like visiting another planet. It had the same easy affluence as before the ZA. The houses were as beautiful as he remembered. The lots of destroyed homes were absorbed into the yards of their neighbors, making a good third of the residences mini-estates if not outright ones. The only concession he could see to the present were bars over all the windows, but even these were artful curlicues of wrought iron that managed to be as decorative as they were functional.
Massive sycamore and oak trees created leafy canopies over spacious streets. Children played in their front yards, running and shouting or whizzing around on bikes and skateboards. Most of the lawns in the semi-arid climate were grass. Connor did not even want to think how much w
ater it took to keep them green. Nannies and well-coiffed mothers supervised the organized chaos of playtime. Two young women chatted as they walked down the sidewalk, their stretchy, form-fitting exercise clothes accentuating the work they performed on the yoga mats tucked under their arms. Not one person in sight carried a weapon of any kind.
The center of Palo Alto was still the commercial strip along University Avenue. It housed all manner of shops and boutiques: grocers, butchers, upscale fashions, bakeries, restaurants, and countless fitness studios where one could perfect their yoga, capoeira, jiu-jitsu, judo, and kickboxing. The fitness and martial arts studios seemed to be the closest Palo Alto came to acknowledging that the world outside its walls had changed.
“Here we are,” Karen announced as they turned the corner.
A regal wrought iron fence started at the corner of the block and stretched far in both directions. If there were proximity alarms on the fence, they were an unobtrusive design Connor did not recognize. They pulled up to a gate painted shiny black with gold leaf on the points and cornices. Men in dark suits who talked into their sleeves and touched devices nestled in their ears stood guard. Their menacing-looking but obedient German Shepherds and Dobermans following them like shadows. Unlike everyone else they had seen these men were armed, but unobtrusively so as not to disturb the illusion.
This is how it must have been to go to the White House.
They were waved through and started up the long tree-lined drive, which blocked their view until they turned at the end and were presented with one of the biggest Mediterranean Revival houses Connor had ever seen. A mansion, in point of fact. Two stories of Palladian arches, verandas, French doors, and brown slate roof stood before him, surrounded by tall, graceful palm trees. There was even a multi-tiered fountain between the curved drive and the entrance. Not carrying weapons was crazy, but the houses were pretty damn sweet.
One of the massive front doors flew open and Emily darted out, the smile on her face so wide her jaw looked like it was wired in place.
