Odium II: The Dead Saga

by Claire C. Riley

  She looks at Michael. “Why did you have to tell her? I really liked Nina.”

  Oh shit, she’s talking about me in past tense already. I am fucked. This is fucked and Mikey is going to go ape shit when I don’t return home. Tears spring to my eyes—not sad tears, angry tears. I don’t want to die, not like this. What about Emily? I love that girl. I wouldn’t get to see her grow up—and then I remember she’s pretty much grown up anyway, because childhood is pretty nonexistent in this piece of shit world. And then I want to cry even more, because it’s my piece of shit life and Rachel is going to ruin it.

  “She knew something was wrong. It’s not my fault, Rachel.” Michael looks exhausted. Did he know all along? I bet he was sick of hiding the truth, but how did he know?

  “I’m a little lost, and I think if I’m going to die that I should get the full story, last rites and all that bullshit,” I say. I’ve seen that in every damn Bond movie—the hero buying time by getting the villain to tell them their evil plan. It seemed stupid in the movies, but I’ll do anything right now to put off the whole impending death thing.

  “That’s fair.” Rachel leans against the doorframe. “What do you want to know?”

  “You told me they were testing on people—that you escaped because of that,” I say carefully, trying to lean against the CDs so she won’t notice as I grab my knife.

  “Oh, that part was true, it was just the part where I told you I got picked up that I lied about. I was already living behind the walls. My city was one of the very first built, long before the stupid apocalypse thing, actually. It was a testing facility for the army. Modern warfare ain’t got nothing on the shit that was happening back then.” She rubs her face, her gun hanging limply in her hand. “I never meant for any of this to happen—honestly, I didn’t. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. I wanted to help, but we needed to test the stupid cure on someone—how else could we see if it worked?” She stands and looks at me, waiting for me to reply.

  I shrug, not wanting to actually say what’s on my mind because that shit would send Rachel over the edge. My thoughts right now are not of the comforting variety, they’re more of the ‘wait till I get my hands on you and wring your scrawny fucking neck you mental case’ variety.

  “But then the first test subject reanimated, and the second, and the third, and then the volunteers dried up. No one wanted to help the cause, so we had to make people!” she says and looks from Michael to me. I glance at him, seeing his worried but somewhat bored expression—like he’s heard this story a thousand times, and the only thing he gives a shit about is making it out of this with his pride intact. “It was for the good of mankind.”

  “Of course,” I reply dryly. “I’m sure that’s how those poor people saw it when you kidnapped and murdered them.” I lift an eyebrow, my fingers wrapping around the handle of my knife.

  Rachel shakes her head. “Don’t say it like that, like I’m some evil villain.”

  I laugh sharply. “You are an evil fucking villain, asshole!”

  “I am not,” she whines back.

  I grit my teeth, trying to contain some of the anger that’s building inside me. Anger won’t do me any good right now, but trying to keep a lid on what I want to say is a losing battle. “Yes, you are. You didn’t save anyone. There was no super-cure in the end, was there?”

  Rachel shakes her head. “No. We hadn’t made a cure for the reanimation, we’d just made it an extremely painful death for the test subject, and they still reanimated.” Her different-colored eyes widen. “It was really gross, to tell you the truth. Their skin rejected their bodies, sliding off their bones, but the brain,” she points to her head as if I don’t know where a brain is, “the brain kept ticking no matter what we pumped those bodies with. It really is fascinating.”

  I finally had my knife in my hand. If I could dodge a bullet and get to her, I could slit her throat if need be. It was a big if, and if I did manage to do all of that, there was still the begging question on what Michael and Nova would do to me afterwards. Shit, Nova was still sleeping, completely oblivious. Would she question where I was? Would she give a shit? She and Rachel are really close; if I slit the bitch’s throat, Nova will more than likely slit mine. It’s a lose-lose situation whichever way I look at it.

  I turn to look at Michael, trying to stall for more time. “So what’s your deal in all this? Why keep quiet on it all?”

  He gives me a shifty sideways look. “I love her. She’s my sister.”

  “You mean, like a sister?”

  He shakes his head. “No, she’s actually my sister.”

  “And Nova?” I ask warily.

  “Yep, my other sister.” He smiles with pride at that fact. “We were all together when she was testing on those people. Nova had no idea what was really going on—still doesn’t. She can’t stomach that sort of thing. She thought they were trying to find a cure. And that was all I cared about for a while, but when I found out about the embryo experiment, I told Rachel enough was enough, but the team didn’t want to let it go—let her go—so we snuck out of there.”

  The final pieces fall into place: their closeness, their bickering—they really do fight like brothers and sisters.

  My head is pounding, and I want nothing more than to have a long shot of something really fucking strong to sort it out. Maybe a quick nap, too, but there’s not much chance of that. I try to give a casual glance around me for an escape route, but Rachel is blocking the one and only. My odds aren’t looking very good.

  “So what about the embryo? The baby?” I ask, still stalling for time.

  “The last I saw of the woman they were going to infect, she and her man were running across country to escape just as much as we were,” Michael says, his eyes flashing to Rachel.

  “Well you helped them escape, that’s a good thing. You did a good thing. Maybe it isn’t all that bad after all.” I try for lighthearted happiness, but it comes out more desperate than anything else.

  “She was already pregnant,” Rachel says quietly.

  My heart freezes in my chest. “You impregnated her?” I ask, just to make sure I’m hearing things right.

  Rachel nods, tears streaming down her face. “She’ll be seven months now, I think.”

  Vomit and bile curdle in my stomach. “She’s pregnant with demon spawn? With fucking deader DNA?” I clutch a hand to my own stomach. “What will happen to her?”

  “The cure will either work or it won’t,” Rachel says coldly, wiping away her tears and snot. She lifts her gun back up and aims it at me.

  “And if it doesn’t work?” I ask, sort of knowing the answer anyway. It’s an inevitable answer, really. We all know what happens when deaders feed, when they get hungry. I shouldn’t ask; I should be more concerned with me, with my life that’s dangling loosely in front of me by some crazy madwoman. “What will happen to the baby? To the mother?”

  “It will eat her.” She looks at her gun and then at me. “It will eat her from the inside out when it’s strong enough.” She laughs cruelly, her laugh ending in a small sob.

  I have no idea why she is crying, but it makes me angry, makes me want to hurt her and make her pay; I want her to die with my hands around her throat, my angry face the last thing she ever sees. Rachel begins to sob, her laughing dissolving further away into a wail.

  “Rachel?” Michael says and takes a step forward.

  She stops crying, the tears still pouring silently down her cheeks. “I really am sorry, Nina. I’ll tell Mikey and Emily that you went out fighting. I’ll give you a great death.” She smiles, a little spark shining in her eyes.

  “Are you fucking serious? You think that will make up for it?” I yell, my hand gripping my knife so hard that the palm of my hand hurts.

  “Well, no, obviously not. But it’s either you or me, and it will always be me. I’d rather you be dead than everyone hate me. But I am sorry. I mean that sincerely.” She bites her lip and holds the gun steady, pointing it square at my
chest.

  “Fuck you,” I whisper, and duck down below the CDs as a shot rings out.

  I scream as a bullet ricochets against the CDs and they smash, exploding into a thousand pieces that rain down on me. I hear Michael shouting and running, and I know that I’m alive, but my heart is about to burst out of my chest and I think I might have a heart attack at any point. The acrid smell of bullets and melted plastic surrounds me, and I stifle a cough as I shuffle backwards. I have no idea where I’m going, but I can’t stay here. I get to the end of the aisle and take a peek toward the door, and see not Rachel with a gun, but Nova.

  I realize something isn’t right, that somehow I’ve yet again misjudged these people and this situation. Nova looks over to me, sadness engulfing her features. I stand slowly, cautiously, staying as much behind the racks as possible.

  “Nova?” I say quietly.

  Michael stands up, his face mimicking Nova’s sadness. But he doesn’t cry. Not Michael. He never cries.

  I walk slowly toward the front of the shop. Rachel’s body lies prone on the floor, her brain splattered across the granite flooring. Her eyes stare at me accusingly, and I gulp down a cry. Of course this was the better outcome: her, not me. Like Mikey said, it can’t ever be me, but Rachel was my friend—or at least I thought she was. And now she’s dead. By her sister’s hand.

  “Nova?” I say again, just as quietly as the first time.

  She looks at me, pulls her cigarettes out of her pocket, and lights one up with a sad shrug. “Bitches be crazy,” she says sadly and walks away.

  Chapter 40

  I look at Michael, wondering what he’s going to do now, but before I can ask him he walks away. I stand there, alone—well, apart from the dead Rachel on the floor—wondering what the fuck just happened and how things got screwed up so quickly. I walk toward Rachel’s body, wanting to cover her up, wanting to give her a little dignity, but then I think of that poor woman out there somewhere in this world full of death and destruction, carrying a monster around with her, oblivious to the fact that it’s going to kill her soon. If it hasn’t already.

  I step over Rachel’s body, leaving her there all alone like she would have done to me. I don’t feel good about it, and I know it’s not the right thing to do, but I can’t stand the thought of helping her in any way, giving her any pride—pride that she doesn’t deserve—because she stripped that away from those poor people, those children, and that mother. No, Rachel deserves everything she got.

  I head back to the department store, feeling exhausted both physically and mentally. Nova is back in bed, but Michael is nowhere to be seen. When I climb beneath the soft duvet that smells of newness and cleanliness, when my head sinks into the soft pillows filled with duck feathers, I don’t feel contented, but tortured.

  In the darkness I hear Nova crying, but it’s not my place to comfort her. In truth, Rachel brought this on herself, but I still feel responsible for her death—as if I pulled the trigger, not Nova. If I hadn’t been so damn nosy, if I hadn’t gone snooping and sticking my nose in where it wasn’t needed, then…then what? Nova wouldn’t know the truth, that her sister was a head case. That she infected and killed innocent people. That she bred a zombie baby inside an innocent woman and then sent her off into the world without telling her.

  I’m a piece of shit for opening Nova’s eyes to the truth, and for that I feel terrible, but Rachel brought her death upon herself—not Nova, and not me.

  The darkness surrounds me. The silence in this place would be eerie if it wasn’t for the noisy thoughts rattling about in my head and stopping me from sleeping. At some point I do sleep, though. At some point in that eternal guilty darkness I sleep fitfully, and when I wake I don’t remember my dreams. I only know that my pillow is wet from my tears, and my heart heavy with guilt at the burden that Nova is carrying.

  We pack up our things, dragging everything close to the fire exit where the truck is parked before opening the door. The deaders have moved on—don’t get me wrong, they’re still around somewhere close by: I can smell them and I can hear their groans—but at least we can safely load up the truck with all of our supplies.

  None of us speak this morning. Through our breakfast of canned soup and a shopping spree for luxury items for everyone, not a word is spoken, not a smile displayed or a joke cracked. Nova avoids Michael but not me, I guess feeling bitter and resentful that he knew what their sister was up to, what she had been doing all along.

  I check the map of the mall, which is on a stand in the middle of the food court, seeing what other shops there are and trying to decide if there is anything else that might be useful for us. There’s not much room left in the truck after packing everything else, but we can always squeeze a little more in—hell, we could get another truck, if need be. We haven’t been down to the underground parking garage, but there’s bound to be some good vehicles down there if we get desperate.

  I point at the map, mentally marking off the health food shop, the pharmacy, the candy store, the home department store, and camping and outdoor activity store—all the places that we’ve raided. We ransacked the place for new underwear and socks and grabbed plenty of boots and sweaters for people, making sure to also grab children’s clothing for the small group of children we have. We took the little food we could find, feeling lucky that we found cans of cooking oil, salt, and condiments, but even happier that we found the tons of dried noodles and pastas at the Italian and Chinese restaurants. We had hoped for more food, but what we lacked in food, we gained in other unexpected provisions. I truly wish we could take more with us, or even that the base was closer to the damn mall so we could get back here easier, but it’s not and we don’t, and that’s the way it is.

  My finger lands on the pharmacy again, and I realize that I didn’t get Nova’s item—the pregnancy test she asked me to get her. I head over there to grab it, passing the music store on the way, and see that Rachel’s body is gone. Long red smears of blood show that the body was dragged, and I know that Nova or Michael have moved her body. Secretly I’m glad. Even though I hate what she did, she was doing it for the right reasons and I can’t hate her for that. Well, maybe a little bit.

  I walk the rows of products—nail polish, lipsticks, hair products. I grab a couple of boxes of the red hair dye and stuff them in my bag, remembering seeing Nova’s dark roots showing yesterday. We grabbed all the sanitary products last night; you don’t realize how much you miss those things until they’re gone, so we made sure to clear every shelf out.

  I pass the perfumes, each bottle glistening with unused scents. Each one will smell stale and rank now, their beauty gone, like everything else in this world. And then I see the baby aisle—the baby formula and diapers, the wipes and cotton balls, creams and bubble baths. Sadness creeps up on me. What kind of world is this for a baby or a child to grow up in? What do they have to look forward to? Safety? Sanctuary? That’s all gone. No matter how many times we try to rebuild it, those simple luxuries are gone. All we’re doing is working to establish some sort of environment that makes it bearable.

  My hand glides across the top of a baby blanket. It’s soft beneath my palm, and I can imagine a little bundle of joy nestled into it. Soft chubby cheeks, pink lips opening on a gurgle, and wide eyes so innocent and lost. My heart aches for what can never be, because I can never—will never—bring a baby into this world.

  I grab the blanket. If Nova is pregnant she’ll need this—among other things, of course. Or maybe it’s me that doesn’t want to let go of the blanket, this symbol of what will never be.

  I grab a pregnancy test and stuff it in my backpack. It’s a twin pack, so we’ll have a spare, too, which is good. While I’m there I grab condoms as well. Hell, if she isn’t pregnant, maybe she’ll be more careful next time. I never thought protection would be important—hell, I never thought sex would be important, but it is. For some people it’s a coping mechanism, for some people it’s the only way to express themselves now. In this world
, every day you have to be on guard and on top of your game, aware of everything and everyone, so if you manage to find that one person you can physically connect with, that’s the best feeling in the world.

  As I leave the store, my backpack bursting with the last of my essential items, I realize that as a community we’re going to have to talk about protection and prevention of babies. We definitely need something more long-term.

  I meet Nova and Michael by the emergency exit, both still quiet from what happened in here, and I wonder if they will ever be able to stand to come back for more supplies. I couldn’t blame them if they didn’t want to. They lost their sister here, Nova found out some dark secrets and that part of her life was actually a lie, and as a community we lost an important member of the team.

  As we drive away, I can’t help but worry how everyone is going to take the news, if I will be accepted anymore. After all, this is partly my fault for sticking my nose in and asking questions.

  The funny thing is, though, with all the questions that it did answer, it also brought up many more.

  Nova rides with up front with me. I’m pretty sure it was her choice, and I’m glad. I don’t know how polite I could be to Michael right now. He knew what was going on, he knew that they were killing people—children—and then making some sort of freaky zombie baby. He knew this and he did nothing. And he was going to let her kill me. That really pisses me off. His love for his sister isn’t a good enough reason in my books.

  We drive in silence for a while, Nova eventually breaking it with some humming, and then finally she grabs a CD out of her bag and pops it in the player. These trucks didn’t normally come with one of those, but Nova has upgraded it many times to make it more comfortable, from what I can see.

  She looks at the back of the case, picking a track before hitting play, and as Highway to Hell by AC/DC blares through the speakers, I see the cellophane from the CD and realize it’s a new CD that she picked up from the music store, and that she must be the one who moved Rachel’s body.