Resurrection (Eden Book 3)

by Tony Monchinski

  He greeted them both by name. Jermaine told Tricia to go on ahead, that he’d catch up to her.

  “Hey professor, listen…” Anthony thought Jermaine looked remarkably well—not like a terminally-ill cancer patient.

  “Call me Anthony, Jermaine.”

  “I wanted to say thank you, Anthony.”

  “Thank you for what?”

  “You’re a great teacher, man…” Anthony was pretty sure Jermaine was on something, though he didn’t smell alcohol on his student’s breath. “…and you always expected the most from me. The same as you expected from anyone else. I appreciate that.”

  “You’re welcome. You’re a bright guy, Maine. It’s an honor to have you in our class.”

  “Thanks for that—Anthony.” Jermaine looked very happy. Anthony was glad for him. This was the kid who had said they were the dystopian future.

  Anthony looked at him for a moment, wondering what he should say. See you in class? He didn’t think Jermaine would be back in class in six weeks. He didn’t think he’d see Jermaine again. If he did, he doubted the kid would be as rosy and vibrant as he was now.

  “I gotta go.” Jermaine clasped his teacher on the shoulder, gave him a cadaverous smile, and walked away.

  After he used the bathroom, Anthony went to the bar and got a fourth Cuba Libre. He stood against the wall, ignoring the people around him, and listened to the music. Could they be playing anything more melancholic, he wondered. The D.J. transitioned from Corey Hart wearing his sunglasses at night to Kim Carnes’ Bette Davis Eyes to the Dream Academy’s Life in a Northern Town.

  Anthony sipped his drink and watched the people around him dance.

  “…as sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti,” Toto were singing about Africa.

  Anthony thought about Megan in his class. She was a pretty girl, a really smart girl. Anthony didn’t think he should be thinking about a student in his class the way he was thinking about her.

  He looked at his watch. It was getting late. He needed to make up his mind.

  “Hey, little brother!” Riley took Anthony’s elbow. “What are you, a wall flower?”

  “I was just thinking.”

  “Come and dance with us!” His sister started to pull him back into the crowd. Anthony saw his friends. Evan had his hoodie off and his torso was slick with sweat. Troi spotted Riley leading Anthony to them and raised her glass. Dexys Midnight Runners were telling Eileen to come on.

  “Dance with us, Anthony!”

  * * *

  Red couldn’t sleep. This was nothing new. She couldn’t sleep most nights. When she thought about it, she realized the only times she could really sleep well were when she was outside the camp and on the hunt, chasing down some hapless soul or souls. It was odd, because everyone else on the hunt would be amped and up-up-up, much as Red would be during her waking hours. But at the end of a day of hunting, whether they’d caught their quarry or it had eluded them until the next dawn, Red always enjoyed a night of deep sleep, a slumber undisturbed by nightmares.

  She had a cabin all her own, and burned the midnight oil tonight like most nights. Red hand washed the clothes she’d worn out in the forest the last few days, setting them to dry in front of the fire on a clothesline she strung across her cabin’s single room.

  She set about sharpening and oiling her various blades: the matching push-daggers she liked to wear on the underside of either forearm; her karambit—the wicked little utility knife with the curved blade—that Thomas had given her, telling her it originated in Indonesia, another country that didn’t exist any longer; the double edged fifteen-inch weapon she didn’t know the name of; the Robbins of Dudley Trench push dagger with the five-inch blade and the steel knuckle guard; her many throwing daggers; and last, but not least, the throwing hatchet she favored.

  When she was done she was still wide awake, so Red went outside. The camp was dark and still. Muted light showed around the cabins’ windows from fires that burned within. There were sentries out and about, Red knew, but she wouldn’t be able to see them from where she stood, and they wouldn’t make any noise.

  Red stared up into the sky. It was a beautiful, clear, cold night, and the stars shone overhead. Presently, she became aware that someone else had come over and stood behind her.

  “That’s Orion’s Belt up there.”

  “Hello, Ed.”

  “Hi, Red.” Gammon stepped forward to stand abreast of the young girl.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yeah, sure it is. You know, some people used to look up to the skies for a reminder of just how insignificant we are.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve never felt that way looking up there. I’ve always felt…lucky, to be here and able to look up there.”

  “That about sums up my take on it, too.”

  “How do you think the stars feel looking down on us?”

  “Can’t rightly say.”

  They stood there without speaking, comfortable in each other’s presence, watching the sky and its pinpoints of light, until Gammon spoke of Thomas.

  “The old man’s dying.” It wasn’t a question. “You know that.”

  Red had suspected as much, but she would never have asked Thomas, or brought it up with anyone else.

  “Does Tommy know?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Tommy isn’t as naïve as his daddy seems to think he is.”

  “What about Johnny and Phil? Merv?”

  “They have no idea.”

  “It’s better that way.”

  Gammon agreed.

  “Ed, how much longer?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Red thought about it. What would Tommy and Merv and the boys do without Thomas? What would become of the camp without the old man? What would become of her? She didn’t like to think about it.

  “We need another hunt, Ed. The old man would enjoy another hunt.”

  “Mmmm…” Gammon watched a star shoot across the sky. “Red, you ever think, you know—you and Tommy? It would make the old man happy.”

  “I know it would. But…I can’t explain it. I can’t be that way with anyone, that close. It wouldn’t be good for either one of us.”

  “You’re a smart girl, and a tough cookie. Don’t let something terrible that happened to ya ruin something wonderful that might happen for ya.”

  Red did not respond, so Gammon continued. “I don’t know what you did out there with Mac, but he sure is a different man.”

  “It’s good to hear that.” She meant it.

  “I think we need to watch Rodriguez, though. He ain’t no good, and he ain’t never been no good.”

  “I’ve been watching him a long time.”

  “Maybe Mac’s change of heart will rub off on him. But I doubt it.”

  “I doubt it, too.”

  They stood there in the cold night air listening to the sounds of the camp and the surrounding lands.

  “You know what we need around here, Ed? Another hunt.”

  “You said that already. Don’t fret on it, Red. Someone will wander through. Give ‘em time.”

  Red hoped so. She looked forward to a good night’s sleep one of these days.

  * * *

  The four friends rode the bus home together. This late at night, they were the only ones on it aside from the driver, who greeted them warmly.

  “So when do we meet our guide?” Troi asked.

  “Noon,” said Evan. He was coming down from his high. “And don’t get too close to him. He’s hot.”

  “I like them hot.”

  “Not this kind of hot you don’t.”

  As they neared the stop where Evan and Troi would get off, Evan turned to Anthony. “Look, we’re all set for tomorrow, okay? And if you change your mind, that’s cool too. Whether we go camping somewhere else in Harmony or we go traipsing around the Outlands, it’s all arranged. Okay?”

  “Thanks, Ev.�
��

  Riley reminded Troi that she did not need to accompany them.

  “You’re boring me.” Troi faked a yawn, which didn’t take much effort, because it was late and they were all tired. “We’ve been through this how many times today?”

  “Okay.” Riley blew out a deep breath. “I just want to make sure you understand what you’re signing on for.”

  “I do. Completely.”

  When Evan and Troi got off the bus, Riley and Anthony rode a few more stops before signaling the driver to stop. Their home was a short walk from the bus stop, and as they walked they spoke to each other quietly.

  “It’s a cold one, tonight,” remarked Anthony.

  “It is.” Riley waited to see if he would say anything before she spoke again. “You know, Ant, it’s like Evan said. If you change your mind, that’s okay.”

  “I’m not changing my mind.” He thought maybe that came across as harsh when he hadn’t intended it. “I don’t know. I guess I look at this as a chance to maybe find some answers. I mean, we still don’t know how the zombie outbreak started, do we? What caused it. How they’re reanimated.”

  Riley did not respond. She knew her brother wasn’t planning to travel into the Outlands on a quest to understand the physiology of the undead.

  “I guess I look at this as a chance to… I don’t know. Find myself? Find out something about myself? Find some certainty. That sounds silly, huh?”

  “No, little brother. Not at all.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah. This is all just happening so fast. What I’m saying is you don’t need to make a decision now. We don’t need to go tomorrow.”

  “Today,” Anthony corrected, studying his watch. “It makes sense. I’ve got the time off. Why not now? But you know what doesn’t make sense—you’re coming along.”

  “It’s not even a question if I’m going to let my little brother brave the wilds alone.” They smiled together at this.

  “Well, thanks, sis.”

  “You keep doing that. Thank me later. Let’s get a good night sleep. You think our guide will be there like he said?”

  “We’ll see, right?” Anthony tired to sound optimistic.

  “Yeah.”

  * * *

  Gwen stood with her back to the wall in the hospital hallway, her arms crossed over her chest, hands on either elbow. She’d lain in bed all night, tossing and turning, torn over whether or not she should or when she should come. Her nausea hadn’t helped matters.

  “You ready for this?” Doctor Rheem asked.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Gwen nodded. “Let’s get it over with.”

  “This way…” The doctor led her into the room.

  Gwen did not recognize the thing in the bed. What little flesh she could see beneath the bandages erupted in lesions or was plugged with one tube or another. The man—she knew it was a man because they had told her it was a man—stirred when she entered the room.

  A telescreen on the wall showed a movie. Gwen recognized the man on the screen at once. Paul Newman was lying on a cot. A little Hispanic kid was hanging in the window talking to him.

  “Mister. You murdered somebody?”

  “No,” said Newman.

  “Sure, I know you.” The kid persisted. “You murdered four men.” The kid smiled.

  “Well, I killed them, maybe, but that ain’t murder.”

  “M—Mickey?” Gwen asked hesitantly, silently damning herself. She’d meant to be firm, to be strong. For Mickey. If this was Mickey…

  “Hey toots…” His voice was weak and sounded congested, but there was no mistaking it, even after all these years.

  “Oh my god…” Gwen went to his bedside where an empty chair sat amid the IVs and medical equipment.

  “Gwen. How you been?”

  “Ohh Mickey…”

  “Let me guess your next line…” His voice was thick, slurred. “…you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind. That it?”

  “Go easy on him,” Rheem cautioned.

  “No, Mickey.” Gwen had to laugh. “Where did you come from? How did you get here?”

  “I’m the type of guy…” Mickey paused to breathe. “…who likes to roam around…”

  “Let me guess,” Gwen smiled through her tears. “You’re never in one place? You roam from town to town?”

  “You got me.” A pathetic sniggering emitted from Mickey’s throat. He was laughing. “They say…you know, Gwen, they say I’m a genuine medical marvel. They’ve never seen someone with the plague this bad…survive this long.”

  “How have you done it?”

  “It’s all in the diet.”

  “About that. They say you’re not eating. They say your body is rejecting the food they’re giving you.”

  “Yeah, well, I told them…I told them what I need…”

  Gwen looked up from the bed. “I don’t think he’s doing well, doctor.”

  Rheem stepped around to the other side, listening to Mickey’s chest with a stethoscope. He scanned an array of electronic equipment. “He’s feverish.”

  “It was good to see you, Gwen…”

  There was a finality in his voice, in the way he said it. She swallowed something down. Mickey was saying good bye. She turned again to the doctor.

  “Is this it?”

  “Who’s to say?” The doctor looked like he was at a loss.

  “This is the way the world ends, then.” Mickey licked his lipless mouth. “Not with a whimper, but a bang. Bang! Zed’s dead, baby. Zed’s dead.”

  Gwen stared at him, both her hands on the remains of one of his. She hadn’t remembered placing them there.

  “…look at what we’re in here man…Not with a bang, but with a whisper. And with a whisper, I’m splitting, Jack…”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Mickey?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Crabtree…” He opened one eye. “Don’t call me Norman…call me Chubsy Wubsy…Nooo...call me Old Lodge Skins…”

  “Mickey, you listen to me. Do you remember that time you shot me in the arm?”

  A phlegmatic grunt was his acknowledgement. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s a good day to die, Gwen. Don’t you think?” He used her name, but she knew he wasn’t talking to her. “Thank you…thank you for making me a human being…thank you for my victories…Forrest…” Mickey paused, and Gwen remembered his talk of a son.

  “…thank you for my sight, and the blindness in which I see…” He started to repeat the name Forrest over and over, quietly.

  “Who’s Forrest?” the doctor asked. Gwen glowered at him, and Rheem held up a hand, turned, and left the room.

  “And now…grandfather…” Mickey stared at the ceiling. “…you’ve decided that human beings…will walk a road that leads nowhere.

  I’m going to die now.” Mickey looked at Gwen. He nodded. She nodded back. He closed his eyes and went still.

  Paul Newman cried on the telescreen. He was on the run and his compatriots were dead.

  “What is it?” Moultrie asked him. “What’s wrong? You all right? You’re not like the books.”

  The machines attached to Mickey continued to blink and beep.

  “You don’t wear silver studs. You don’t stand up to glory. You’re not him.”

  Newman dumped Moultrie in the dirt, rubbing the man’s face in the dust of the street in Madero.

  Gwen sat there with Mickey for ten minutes, until the stub of a thumb on the nub she clasped wiggled and he opened his eyes.

  “Am I dead now?”

  “No. You’re still here.” Gwen had to smile in spite of herself.

  “Well, I was afraid of that. You know…sometimes the magic works and, sometimes, well, sometimes it don’t…”

  “Mickey, tell me what you need.”

  He gazed conspiratorially at her. “They’ll never let you bring it to me.”

  “They won’t stop me,” she whispered back. “Now tell me.
” Gwen leaned in close and Mickey told her, and as he told her, she nodded and knew what she had to do.

  “You give me twenty minutes.” Gwen squeezed his bandaged hand with its remaining thumb and stood. “You give me twenty minutes and I’ll be right back. Don’t die on me now.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” he promised. “Hey, Gwen, how’s that arm?”

  “It only hurts when I laugh.”

  It was Mickey’s turn to laugh again—a low, congested chortle that sounded deep within his chest. When he’d stopped, Gwen was gone and he was alone again.

  * * *

  George stood outside in the cool morning rain, but the rain never bothered George. Its clothes were soaked and pressed to its necrotic torso, but the state of its dress did not register in George’s brain. A bus had come by earlier in the night and George had shuffled towards it, knowing there was lots of food on the bus. But George had been too slow, and the bus had disappeared in the distance. The length of George’s wire was such that it could never reach the passing busses or the people that got on and off them. Yet this never deterred George from trying.

  Birds passed by overhead in a v-formation. It was dark and George could not see them, but it could hear them. It stared up in the sky after the birds, moaning deep in its throat, through the speculum. That was food in the sky. But the food was too far and too fast and too high.

  The woman came out of the hospital with the fire axe she had taken from the corridor wall. She marched determinedly down the street to George’s area. It watched the food come to him. As she neared, it raised its arms and moaned through the speculum. As she entered the orange circle, George shuffled forward towards her. The zombie was excited.

  The look on the woman’s face was one of resolve. She raised the axe over her shoulder and brought it around quickly. George felt a slight tug on its arm, and when it looked again that arm was gone above the elbow. The zombie stopped and looked down at its arm on the ground. It felt no pain. George looked up at the woman, not comprehending. She raised the axe and panted, staring at George.

  Something passed behind her eyes, something it would never understand. The woman lowered the axe, bent, and took George’s severed limb. George reached for her with its one remaining arm, but she had already turned and walked off in the direction she had come. It watched her go until a voice behind it drew its attention.