She looked in his eyes for a reason, and saw flat, lifeless orbs, devoid of hope or pity. “Why?”
“Because they deserve to know. I love you, but I...I deserved to know, too. You owed me that much.”
“And more, but—”
He put a finger to her lips. “No ‘buts’. There’s something special about you. Infected, but not.” He raised his eyebrows. “Right?”
Instead of answering, she stepped in and hugged him again. “We thought I wasn’t contagious. Test after test after test showed I wasn’t. There shouldn’t have been any danger. You shouldn’t have turned.”
He snorted, but at least his arms wrapped her.
“What?”
He held her a while before replying. “So if I hadn’t turned, I’d be dead on the ground. You killed me, broke my neck and shattered my skull. That had nothing to do with contagion.”
Her head bobbed against his chest. “I know. I thought about it a lot. That wasn’t supposed to happen, either. I had it under control. Thought I did, anyway.”
“For how long?”
“The whole time.”
He laughed. “How long was that?”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Two years, near enough.”
He didn’t say anything, but the stillness went beyond that. He didn’t breathe, or shift, or move his arms. She rubbed his back, trying to provoke a human response.
At last he spoke. “You went emo—”
“—because I didn’t want to burn.”
“And your mother?”
“In on it the whole time. I still don’t know how she figured it out or how she subdued me. She’d been ready for it my whole life.”
Cars passed in the distance, no more than four military-controlled blocks away, commuting home in the chilly December twilight. “Your whole life.”
“Yes.” The time for secrets had gone. “I was born in LA. I’ve always been special. A carrier. Mom hid me from the people who would kill me or make me a lab rat.”
“Banerjee.”
“And others. But him most of all.”
He stepped back and walked along the fence, not taking her hand. “I feel like I just met him, but I’m afraid of him.”
“You should be. We’re nothing to him. Just experiments.”
“No,” he shook his head. “It’s more than that. We’re his ambition. His drive. He needs us, but he hates us.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” He scratched his arms. “I really do.”
“Did he hurt you?” Ani wasn’t sure what she meant by the question. Maybe Mike would.
“I don’t think so. So much is fuzzy. But Banerjee doesn’t want what’s best for us. He wants us to die.”
“Then why would he—”
“Don’t know. But I know.”
“Huh. Fair enough.” It wasn’t fair enough, but she couldn’t make him remember any more than she could make him forget.
They passed the lab entrance again but kept walking. As the sky faded to halogen-orange, snow fell. Ani admired the beauty but couldn’t appreciate it.
“You can’t tell,” she said.
They kept walking.
“Mike?”
He stopped. “I have to, Ani. I’m sorry.”
“But—”
“But we’ll deal with it. Together. There’s nothing these people can do to hurt you that we can’t get through. I forgive you, Ani. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” The words didn’t hold the power they used to. They weren’t magic. Now they were just true.
“So you understand.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t understand. What good will telling them do?”
“What good does lying to them do?”
“It keeps me safe.”
Mike raised his arms to the guards. “You’re the safest human being on the planet. What could they possibly do to you?” His chest rose and fell of its own accord.
She grabbed his face and kissed him, hard. Holding him there, forehead to forehead, she looked in his eyes. “You don’t know Devon. You never have. We’re friends now, sort of, but she’s vicious. Dangerous.”
He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let him. “No,” he protested. “She’s stubborn and spiky and jealous, but not vicious. She’d never hurt anybody.”
Ani thought of the concrete powdering under Devon’s fist in lieu of Kyle’s face. “You’re wrong. Remember the Hearts on Fire dance?”
“That was Leah and—”
“That was Devon. They followed Devon, hated me because she wanted them to.” She took no satisfaction in their deaths at prom but felt little remorse.
He shrugged. “It’s my decision.”
“Please. Don’t do this.”
He closed his eyes, kissed the tip of her nose, and pulled back. “I have to.” Instead of finishing the circuit, he broke off and walked back to the lab on his own. Ani watched him go, then followed his tracks through the dusting of white.
* * *
The next morning, Mike sat in his usual spot on the bus, but in passing by he tossed a folded piece of paper into Ani’s lap. Ani waited for the bus to roll, then opened it.
Mike’s too-neat, almost girlish handwriting covered the page.
* * *
Dear Devon,
I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. The time we had was special, and even though I knew then that it wouldn’t work out, I couldn’t bring myself to let you go. You’re special to me and you always will be, and not just for what we’ve shared. I love you, I’ve loved you since tenth grade, and no matter what happens nobody can take that from us. But we can’t be together. We’re too different. But I do love you and I owe you the truth.
When I walked into prom, I knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t help it, and for that I’m so, so sorry. I think you understand now how the craving works. That was worse. It was everything. I saw you and I knew it was you and it didn’t matter I didn’t care, and for that I can never, ever forgive myself.
I was with Ani that night, before. We were kissing, and she bit me, and everything changed. I now know that she’s always carried the virus, and that she and Sarah knew. I think even Banerjee knew, even way back to Los Angeles, and has been watching this whole time. They thought it was under control. They were wrong.
Please don’t blame her. She didn’t do anything that any of us wouldn’t do in the same situation. Blame me instead. She never would have been at prom, never would have lost control, if it weren’t for me.
Always your friend,
Mike
* * *
Ani folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket. It burned there all day, through every one of Mr. Foster’s astonished giggles at Mike’s newfound intelligence, through the matter-of-fact and nonplussed lunchtime debate that Mike had with Mr. Cummings about the appropriate level of education spending, and into the bus ride home.
“Anyone else find it weird,” Sam said, “that Mr. Cummings didn’t react in the slightest at Mike?”
Mike shrugged. So did Ani.
“Yeah,” Devon said. “I did.” She smiled at Mike. “No offense, but lately you haven’t been the debate type. He just...folded you right in to the discussion.”
“Mr. C’s pretty chill,” Sam said.
Mike frowned at the floor. “I’ve been...blurry. I don’t remember much. I get the idea I’ve been a drooling idiot.” He looked at Ani. “Your mom said something about severe brain trauma.”
Teah reached back to pat his knee. “Ani ate part of it.”
Ani glared at her, but she’d already turned back around.
Dammit, Mike hasn’t had the time to process what happened. He doesn’t know about ‘Fair’ and ‘Fault’ and everything else we’ve agreed to. This is all new and raw and awful.
“I know,” he said, without taking his eyes from her. She couldn’t read his expression.
The bus lurched to a stop with a squeal of brak
es. The driver opened the door without speaking, as was his habit, and Mr. Benson hopped on board. “Let’s go, kids.” They followed him out and into the lab, peeling off their helmets as they went.
Mike lagged behind, and Ani lagged with him. It seemed to be his intent.
“Can I have my letter back?”
She pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to him. “What do you intend to do with it?”
“I want to give it to Devon. But I won’t do it without your permission.” He held her gaze and waited.
“I...” She brushed her knuckles across his cheek, and recognized the gesture as one she got from Joe. “I can’t.”
He dropped the note in the snow, turned and walked away without another word. Instead of following him, she picked up the letter.
Snow had smeared the ink, blurring his message without rendering it illegible. She shredded the paper and tossed the confetti to the ground.
* * *
The next morning, he lurched into the lounge to wait for the bus, smiling. “Hi.”
Ani’s heart broke. “Hi, Mike. How’re you doing?”
He scowled. “I’m, um...” He rubbed his eyes. “I need my helmet.”
Ani grabbed it from the rack as he turned around, then put it on his head. Mr. Benson would secure the mouth guards and lock the helmets in place, as he did every morning.
“Thanks.”
She hugged him from behind. He squeezed her arms tighter around his massive torso. “I’m sorry, Mike.”
“Why?”
“The letter—”
Teah walked in and glared at Ani with a look that screamed “slut.” “Jesus, Ani. It hasn’t even been two months since your last one died.”
Ani let go and stepped back, furious.
“Hi,” Mike said.
Teah stopped in her tracks. “Hi, Mike. How’re you feeling?”
“Hi,” he said again.
Teah’s face shifted from scorn to pity as she looked at Ani. “I’m such a bitch. I’m so sor—”
“Save it,” Ani said. “Apologize some other time.”
Mike scowled at both of them. “I need to....”
Teah’s smile held the soft contempt of a parent to a child. “Need to what?”
He dislodged his helmet with a shake of his head. It fell to the floor with a bang, startling Sam as she walked in.
“What’s up?” she asked.
Mike smiled at her. “I need to....” She stepped back at his frustrated growl. “No! What I mean is...” He leaned down, plucked his helmet off the floor, and pulled it down onto his head. “I don’t know.” His eyes fell to the floor, his face stricken.
Devon joined them behind Sam. “Is he okay?”
Mike shook his head. “No. Hard to think.”
The bus arrived, so Mr. Benson cinched their helmets and herded them onboard. Mike shuffled to his old seat. Devon sat next to him, and they exchanged a few words in low voices. A minute later she switched back to her own seat. Mike stared out the window the rest of the ride.
As they clanked through the halls, Ani couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t the only one staring. Only the soldiers seemed unaffected. She certainly wasn’t the only one to notice Mr. Foster’s frustration at Mike’s lack of progress in the morning and clear regression to Jeff’s level by afternoon.
He clapped enthusiastically when Mr. Foster awarded Lydia a certificate as “Special Student of the Month” for raising her math scores from a D to a C-, but he’d stopped breathing. By the time they got on the bus, he wasn’t communicating beyond the occasional, “Hi.” Once in the lab, he shuffled his slack-jawed shuffle to the lounge and got out the Jenga blocks. Unable to function in his presence, Ani went home to her piano.
Saturday night—Christmas Eve—her mom confirmed the diagnosis: complete reversion of soft tissue regeneration as the serum’s effects withered under the onslaught of ZV. Stage VIII was a failure.
Chapter
27
Christmas morning dawned almost white. Through the half-inch polycarbonate windows, Ani admired the soggy slush clinging to the grass and trees.
Close enough.
She got up, went through the motions of bacon and eggs while she waited for her mom to emerge from the bedroom, and smiled. “Merry Christmas!”
“Hi, Sweetie. Merry Christmas.” Sarah stumbled to the coffee pot, poured a cup, and took a sip.
“What’s the plan for today?”
“Besides me, we only have two confirmations.”
“Who?”
“Holcomb and Stuber.”
Ani pouted. “That sucks. What about Teah’s mom or Sam’s dad? Mike?”
“I asked Mike not to come. I wasn’t sure what state his son would be in, and I didn’t want to see him anyway. Teah’s mom didn’t get the liability waiver in on time, so she left a gift at the gate. Sam’s dad went to the Bahamas with his new girlfriend.”
“What a dick.”
“Language, sweetie.” Her lip twitched just a little. “Though I don’t disagree.”
They wandered to the lounge in PJs they only wore on holidays, and found everyone else already there. Lydia and Sam both wore Santa hats, as did Lydia’s mom. Mike sat in the corner with a three-foot fake tree, smiling at the modest pile of presents. Devon sat between her mom and Mike, not even wearing her wig.
Once everyone settled in, Mike handed presents to Devon, who passed them out, setting her own off to the side. By agreement the kids didn’t get each other anything—everything they had and most entertainment they wanted was provided by the lab anyway. Teah got a stuffed panda that giggled when squeezed, whom she immediately named Burt. Sam got a one-year subscription to Popular Science; Lydia got a xylophone, which she gave to Mike, and a harmonica, which she kept; and Devon got a new chess set in mahogany and quartz. From her mom, Ani got a $100 Kindle gift card, and from Tiff she got a heart-shaped pendant. The picture inside showed them lying on the hood of a car in the middle of winter, Fey in her emo glory holding a half-gone bottle of champagne, Ani’s mouth open in an “oooh!” at a falling star.
Ani remembered that night. Jake had snapped that shot the year before prom, before his family had moved them to Oregon in response to the Special Dead. He was one of the few inside the gym who survived; Ani wondered how he was doing.
“Hey,” her mom said. “You’re woolgathering.”
She snapped the locket closed and put it back in the box. “Sorry. Interesting memories.”
Her mom kissed her temple. “Too many of them are.” Never a sentimental person, she didn’t want to take any time away from the visiting parents, so she excused herself to get some work done in the lab.
Restrictions dampened the festive mood: no food or drink made for an odd party for the non-zombies. Lydia spent the afternoon glued to her mom, while Devon, her mom, Sam, and Ani played Scattergories. Teah played Jenga with Mike, sulking the entire time. He didn’t seem to notice.
At 4:00 pm the living were excused and escorted off-premises. The rest of them fell to their usual routine, which included Teah moping about Bill and Lydia trying to cheer her up with nothing whatsoever to offer. Vacation left Teah downright morose—not only could she not talk to Bill, but without school she couldn’t even see him through the fence in the Zombie Yard.
By Wednesday, Ani wanted to kill her just to shut her up. Everything turned back to Bill, no matter what anybody said or did. Her irritation peaked when Teah got into it with Devon over what movie to watch, so she stepped out into the hall for fresh air her body didn’t need.
The agitation grew, and a light bulb went off in her head. She jogged home, yanked open the door, and bolted for the medicine cabinet. She snatched the auto-injector off the middle shelf, put it against the base of her skull, and hit the button.
Relief flooded her, coupled with disappointment. She turned around as the apartment door opened. Her mom stepped in, eyebrows up in anticipation. “What’s up, sweetie?”
“What do yo
u mean?”
“I saw you running on the monitors. Figured I’d see what’s up.”
She held up the auto-injector. “Just needed a dose, that’s all.”
“Why so glum?”
“Glum, Mom, really? Is that even a word anymore?” She smiled, but knew her mom wouldn’t relent until she spilled her guts. “I haven’t needed an injection in a long time. I was kind of hoping, you know, that I wouldn’t need them at all.”
“There was no reason to expect that.”
Ani chuckled. “No, but that doesn’t mean part of me didn’t.”
She hugged her. “Still, nineteen days is a record. For anyone. And eight days longer than last time. We’ll see if that continues after Stage VII. Maybe we should back off on Mike’s, too.”
“Is that a good idea? He’s not smart enough to know when he needs a booster.”
“Hmm.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll think on it.” She looked around the apartment. “Anyway, back to work. Tidy up, would you?”
Ani rolled her eyes as theatrically as possible. “Yes, Mom.”
“And try not to be so glum about it!”
* * *
“Well, that’s just stupid,” Devon said, banging her helmet on the desk. Mr. Cummings looked up at the noise, then went back to reading the newspaper.
Sam shrugged. “Dad says there’s nothing they can do about it.”
“But,” Lydia said, “they’ve been going to the Science Center forever! It’s tradition!”
Ms. Pulver cleared her throat. “Well, put yourself in their shoes. If you ran a museum, would you want the zombie school to come? What if it scared away all your other patrons?”
“A,” Devon said, ticking reasons off on her finger, “that’s discrimination. B, none of the zombies are even going. C, they already booked the group. D...” She looked at Sam and Ani for help. “What’s ‘D’?”
“They’re denying a bunch of seventh graders an educational opportunity,” Ani supplied.
“And they’re being jerks,” Sam added.
“It’s mean,” Lydia added.
“What?” Devon asked. “Calling them jerks or not letting Ohneka Falls send the kids?”
Special Dead Page 18
