Dead (A Lot)

by Howard Odentz

  “Not just yet,” she said. “Your name, please.”

  “Andy.”

  “Yes?”

  “Andy Caron.”

  “Hmmm—Andy, you say?” The old lady smirked as though she just caught me cheating on an Algebra test.

  “Andy Caron,” I repeated. Geez, was she old and deaf? “Where’s Jimmy? We were on bikes. He was hurt. The soldier men told us that we could come here, and you could help us and . . .”

  She threw her hand up in that universal way that meant ‘shut up.’

  “I am Diana,” she said.

  “And?” Quid pro quo with a little smartass thrown in for good measure. She raised her eyebrows.

  “Diana Radcliffe,” she said.

  “Where’s Jimmy?”

  “I heard you the first time. First, come and sit down and let’s have a little talk, shall we?”

  She motioned for me to sit in one of the petite little chairs. We were like two wolves circling each other as I warily came around the desk and slowly sat down. Old lady Radcliffe sat facing me, her legs primly crossed. She regarded me again, long enough for me to want to squirm, but I didn’t.

  “Did you find anything interesting in those folders?”

  “The red one’s pretty,” I said, but the words sounded hollow. Yeah, lady, I found your plan to wipe out our species. Bully for you.

  She licked her lips and let silence fill the void between us. Finally, she said, “Is that all?

  “I was looking for pictures.”

  “Were you now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you find any?”

  “No.”

  I heard an electric sound, like static. Shortly, an intercom voice from somewhere overhead filled the room and made me jump.

  “Is everything fine, Ma’am?”

  “Yes, Dr. Marks. I’m quite fine. Our guest and I were just about to have a discussion.”

  “Would you like refreshments for you and the boy?”

  She regarded me. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t think our Mr. Andy Caron is hungry or thirsty just now, correct?”

  She waited, clearly expecting for me to reply.

  “Um, yeah. Correct,” I said.

  “Very well, Ma’am.” The intercom clicked off, and we were alone again.

  “You’re a very brave, young man to carry your injured friend down a dark road at night, alone, considering the monstrous plague that has befallen our . . . race.”

  “I guess. I thought you might have a doctor here.”

  Diana chuckled.

  “We’re all doctors, my dear, or we wouldn’t have been chosen to be here. We’re just not medical doctors, per se. We understand microorganisms and sociological behavior and such. Sadly, not one of us can properly use a band-aid.”

  I was a little confused but as long as she was willing to play, so was I.

  “But that Cheryl lady said you have a medical doctor.”

  “Purely by accident,” she said. “Although he’s not as cooperative as we would like him to be.” Diana leaned forward in her chair. “Could you venture a guess as to why?”

  This time I didn’t answer her. On the outside my face was blank. On the inside I was giving a big high five to my dad. Why would he want to cooperate with anyone who was holding him and Mom against their wills?

  “Oh, come now, Andy Caron. I’m sure you must have some thoughts on the matter.”

  I looked at the old biddy straight in the eyes.

  “Maybe he needs a nurse. Does the doctor have a . . . nurse with him?”

  Diana threw her head back and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” I whispered.

  “Priceless,” she cackled. “Absolutely priceless.” Diana reached inside her blazer, like a guy on a detective show reaching for a gun, and pulled out a crumpled bit of something. She reached over and handed it to me.

  The color drained from my face. I was looking at a picture of me and Trina with Mom and Dad, taken when the two of us were twelve at a beach on Cape Cod. I remembered the fat lady in the bikini who took the shot for us. Maybe that’s why we all looked like we were giggling.

  I turned the picture over. On the back of the photograph it said ‘Molly, Doug, Tripp, and Trina—Provincetown, Massachusetts.’

  “Yes, Tripp. Your mother is still alive, although my understanding is that she’s a real-estate professional, not a nurse. My question is, where is your sister Trina?”

  My blood began to boil “Dead,” I lied.

  Diana raised her eyebrows. Her shark-toothed smile turned into a frown.

  “She’s dead.” I screamed at her. My hands never left the arms of the chair, but my knuckles turned white.

  Her rock-hard face didn’t move, but something flickered in her eyes—maybe disappointment—like she had just sat in line all night for concert tickets and they sold out one person in front of her.

  I raised my voice even more.

  “You people and your freaking science project are to blame.” I bellowed. “You killed her. You killed my sister.”

  72

  DIANA MOVED ME to the great room with the pretty eggheads and the monitors. They were all still watching the grainy images on screen. Mostly, they were interested in the middle one with the people. The poxer on one of the other monitors was still banging his head against the wall.

  Greasy Dr. Marks watched me warily with his beady, little eyes but didn’t have to vice-grip me this time. The soldier had his gun leveled at me, instead. You’d think that there would be some weird rule against pointing guns at kids, but if there was, Diana didn’t know about it.

  “Jimmy still needs help.” I snapped at her.

  “He’s being tended to by your father,” she said as she perched in a winged back chair. “We are not barbarians, you know.”

  Wanna bet?

  At least I knew that Jimmy had found his way to my dad. By this time, I’m sure he had told him everything, and maybe they were even working on a plan on how we were all going to get out of here.

  Or not.

  Note to self: next time we break into an evil stronghold, we need an exit strategy not devised by the ginger in the wheelchair with a taste for tofu.

  Also, I wasn’t sure where my mom was. I had to find her, too. That’s the weird thing about parents. They often come in pairs.

  The red folder had called this place ‘Site 37.’ I wondered how many sites there were. Was Necropoxy just in Massachusetts? New England? The world? According to what I read, the disease spread everywhere in sixteen hours and thirty-seven minutes, more or less, and that deadline had passed days ago.

  That meant ‘game over.’ We, meaning those of the living variety, lost.

  I watched Diana as she poured herself a cup of tea from a porcelain teapot and dumped a boat load of sugar in the pristine, little cup. It would have been great if any of the morons in here had woken out of their lunacy and switched out her sugar bowl for rat poison, but I suppose that was just wishful thinking.

  Diana stirred her tea with a delicate, silver spoon and her pinky up. Yup—I officially despised her.

  “What I would like to know, my young Mr. Light, is where Mr. Pooler and Mr. Longo are. You obviously met them or you would never have found out about our little camp.”

  Camp? Alright, sure. I suppose some people would call this camping. I just never met any of them.

  “And what I would like to know, you old bag, is where my parents are.”

  The soldier repositioned his rifle. “You should talk to the lady real nice, my friend.”

  “I’m not your friend.”

  “Got that right.”

  Diana sipped at her tea. “Your father is directly down the hall,” she said. “We h
ave our makeshift medical office there. What a wonderful and serendipitous coincidence that we found him, don’t you think?”

  I just stared at her.

  “What about my mom?”

  “Now that one’s a little trickier,” she purred. Her eyes moved to the monitors.

  Cheryl the It appeared in the room with the people who were sitting on the beds and talking. She had a rifle out and was saying something to them.

  In a loud, clear voice, Diana said, “Cheryl, dear? Can you please ask Mrs. Light to face the monitor?

  Cheryl looked right at us through the screen.

  “Sir, yes Sir,” she growled and stepped off camera. When she returned she had my mother by the arm. Cheryl the It pushed her forward so that her face filled the monitor. A lump caught in my throat. One of my mom’s eyes was swollen shut, and her lip was cracked.

  Rage boiled in the pit of my stomach.

  “Please,” whimpered my mother. “Please let me see my husband. Please let us get our children. I know they’re safe. I just know they are.”

  “That will be enough, Cheryl,” ordered Diana. My mother was pulled away from the screen. Diana turned her gaze on me. I was literally shaking I was so angry. “I see a family resemblance between you and your father,” she said. “He looked at me in just the same way when I told him what we do here.”

  “So?”

  “So? Is that all you have to say for yourself? Come now, I’m sure there must be a little curiosity in there. Just a tad.”

  “Listen, you poor excuse for a dried up librarian, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do here. I want my mom and my dad, and I want them now.”

  “Or what?”

  Damn, I wish I was clever enough to come up with an answer to that one. I wasn’t, so I just stood there, the anger dancing across my face like wind stirring up a dust devil in the desert.

  Diana rolled her eyes, not far off from the same sort of expression I had seen on Prianka’s face once or twice.

  “Cheryl,” she said in a commanding voice. “Have we injected Mrs. Bijur?”

  “Not my job,” she said through the monitor.

  Diana moaned.

  “Dr. Chapdelaine?” she said to one of the men consumed with the images on screen. He was a little, rat-faced excuse for a human being with a blank expression and a shaved head.

  “Yes, yes,” he twittered. He checked a clipboard he was holding in his hands. “At nineteen hundred hours.”

  “Very well,” said Diana. “Cheryl? Dear?” The burly little woman appeared back on screen. “Mrs. Bijur, please.”

  I heard a commotion on screen. Diana lifted a remote control, pointed at the screen, and pressed a button. The sound went mute.

  “Ok, I’ll bite. What do you do here?”

  She took another sip of tea.

  “Isn’t it obvious, Mr. Light?” Her eyes went back to the monitors.

  The poxer who had been banging his head against the wall had stopped. His head leaned to one side like he was listening for something. The next thing I knew he was no longer alone. A terrified woman with mousy brown hair, wearing dress pants that my mother wouldn’t be caught dead in, was with him.

  It was terrible. Either he was too speedy or she was too tired to fight, because the poxer sank his teeth into her arm in seconds.

  The eggheads pulled out timers and alternated watching the monitor and checking their stop watches.

  I could feel my face turning red and my eyes burning. Diana watched me intently.

  “Well, isn’t it obvious?” she asked again.

  I didn’t answer her. Nothing was obvious about this. Everything was insane—completely and totally insane—and the queen of Insanity Land was sitting in front of me drinking tea.

  She put her china cup down and slapped both hands down on her knees. A lunatic’s smile bloomed on her face.

  “We’re going to save the world.”

  73

  A DOOR SLAMMED open on the other side of the room, and my father stormed in. The soldier immediately transferred the gun from me to my dad. I guess they didn’t think of me as much of a threat.

  “Dad,” I cried.

  I could see that he wanted nothing more than to run to me, but soldier guy had the muzzle of the rifle leveled at him. Dad raised both his hands, but he had his angry face on. According to Diana, I was sporting the same expression.

  “What the hell is this, Diana? That’s my son. I don’t quite know how he got here, but he’s here.”

  “Yes he is,” she said in that calm, even tone.

  My dad looked directly at the soldier and slowly lowered his hands.

  “Get that thing outta my face,” he boomed. The sound echoed in the cavernous great room.

  My dad’s a big guy. He’s all about fitness and eating right. If there wasn’t a gun between him and that soldier, he probably would have taken him apart.

  The soldier looked nervously to Diana. She rolled her eyes again in that very Prianka-like way and dismissively waved her hand.

  The soldier lowered the gun, and my dad ran and engulfed me in a bear hug. The pretty eggheads barely noticed, but Dr. Marks and Diana watched us with bored, intellectual curiosity, as though they couldn’t quite understand this odd thing called family.

  Dad practically lifted me off the ground as he crushed me to him, his face right up against mine.

  “Jimmy’s in a facility wheelchair,” he whispered into my ear. “He’s got things covered.”

  I desperately clung to him and whispered back.

  “Diana thinks Trina’s dead. Go with it.”

  He hugged me even tighter. Finally, Dr. Marks had enough.

  “Are we done with the family reunion?” he snapped, but my father wouldn’t let me go. Soldier guy finally intervened, reaching between our tangled arms and forcing us apart.

  “Where’s my daughter?” Dad barked at Diana.

  “We weren’t able to retrieve your daughter,” she said.

  “You weren’t able to retrieve me either,” I laughed. “I came to you.” I turned to my dad and made with the puppy dog eyes again. “Is Jimmy going to be okay?”

  “I don’t think so,” he lied. “It may be his lower spine.”

  Dr. Marks stepped forward, the grease practically oozing out his skin. If he was any slimier he would make little squishy noises on the floor when he walked.

  “So what are you saying?”

  “Are you deaf, you creepy freak?” I screamed at him. “My sister’s dead, and my friend’s a cripple.”

  Right on cue, my dad dropped to his knees.

  “Trina’s dead? My little girl?” He put his face in his hands and began to sob, loudly, like I had never seen him do before. Come to think of it, I’ve never see him cry at all. He was doing a bang up job, considering he already knew that Trina was safe and sound at Aunt Ella’s house.

  I put my hand on his shoulder.

  Dr. Marks completely ignored us. Instead, he turned to Diana.

  “Well, if the boy can’t walk, he can still be of use to us, don’t you think?” He pointed his chin at the monitors where there were now two poxers in the room when just a little while ago there had only been one.

  The pretty eggheads huddled and conferred with each other. One of the plastic-faced women said, “Infestation in just over a minute, Diana. We’ve improved on the change rate.”

  Diana poured herself another cup of tea—probably just to be pretentious, and left it sitting next to the teapot. She nodded her head once to the woman and trained her eyes back on us.

  “Come now, Dr. Marks. Let’s not show ourselves to be too insensitive. The good doctor here just found out about the death of his daughter. I think we owe him a moment or two, don’t you?”

 
The man’s nostrils flared. “Everyone’s lost people.”

  “You’re quite right,” said Diana. “But not as special as Trina Light, or for that matter, her brother, who very conveniently walked right through our front door.”

  My dad stiffened and got to his feet.

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  My father put his hands up and shook his head. He wanted me to be quiet, which wasn’t the easiest of tricks for me to master. Instead, he sort of positioned himself in front of me.

  “You’re not touching my son, Diana,” he said.

  She sighed, somewhere between annoyance and boredom. “We do what we do for the greater good.”

  Dr. Marks took a step toward me, but my father blocked his way.

  “We just need a little bit of his blood, Dr. Light,” he said. “It would be foolish to waste the whole boy all at once.”

  Who’s blood? What blood?

  “Over my dead body,” growled my father.

  “That could be arranged,” snarled Dr. Marks.

  “Wait a second,” I said. “Could someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  Before anyone had a chance to answer me, the monitors went blank all in rapid succession. The pretty eggheads yelped, and all eyes immediately focused on the black screens.

  Dr. Marks momentarily lost interest in me and swiveled around to stare at the dead monitors.

  “Dad?” I whispered. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re most likely immune,” he whispered, “To everything—the airborne virus and the bite. You’re the product of two people who are immune. That makes you super immune.”

  I never stopped to wonder why, but I guess the odds that two people who were immune, like my mom and dad, met and had kids, were like a million to one. Furthermore, the odds that any of those kids survived the poxer hordes for the past week were even more astronomical.

  Trina and I could really be freaks—really, really lucky freaks.

  Still, at the end of the day, one thing was perfectly clear. These people wanted to experiment on the freaks, and if we didn’t get out of here soon, they were very likely going to get their chance.

  74