Annette pulled herself back a bit and looked across at Ray. ‘Yes, we live here. Aren’t you a confident child?’ She smiled at Ray, but Virgil could tell that her body language was asking him to take notice of Jessy’s breach of etiquette. ‘Don’t you think, dear, that you would be more comfortable playing in the den? Why don’t you be a good girl and go with the maid. I have a daughter about your age who you can play with while the adults speak.’
Jessy’s jaw dropped. Virgil could see her hands ball into fists as she readied herself for a comeback. ‘I am—’
‘Jessy, not a word,’ Ray growled, staring at her with stony black eyes, as if daring her to answer back.
Jessy sat calmly for a moment, then she slowly stood and walked straight-backed to the door. But before she left the room, she looked back at Ray with an expression that made Virgil catch his breath. It was not just anger, but a look of disgust. And, even more surprising, he saw her raise her eyebrows at Ray, warning him. It was almost too quick to be noticed, but it was there.
After Jessy had gone, Annette let out a controlled, patronising laugh. The lady likes to be righteous and looked up to, Virgil thought, but she does it by pointing out others’ flaws, not by doing good deeds of her own. Virgil had a bad taste in his mouth.
Leader Grosvenor entered, smiling and self-confident. It was hardly the body language of a father whose son was about to be hunted and captured. He walked swiftly past the Gunslingers and sat down at his desk.
‘Gunslingers,’ he said, by way of greeting. ‘I assume you received my letter?’
Ray’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes we did and we were wondering if it was true.’
Chris Grosvenor looked stern but he did not speak. Virgil could see Greg shift his weight uncomfortably and Maria’s hands flex nervously. Finally the Leader leaned forward and, with a burst, slapped the desk in front of him, so that the Gunslingers jumped and Virgil reached for his weapon.
‘These are dark times!’ Chris yelled, then he paused and looked at each of them in turn.
Virgil held his breath and glanced away when the Leader tried to look him in the eye. This man is trying something on us, he thought.
‘A disgusting crime, an abomination has happened. My son has not only blasphemed his family but has spat in the face of his duties and community. Would you allow this?’ Chris asked Ray directly.
Ray shook his head. ‘No, I would not.’
‘Such a lack of consideration for the work we do to keep the citizens safe, to keep the Infection away, must be stopped.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ray nodded his head in agreement.
Virgil could see why the Leader could control the City and the colonies now — his persuasiveness, his timing and his ability to appeal to people’s emotions were masterful.
‘Well, then, it’s your task to track down my son and bring him in, along with the Zombie temptress who has led him on.’
Ray’s brow knitted together. ‘They’re dirty and infectious creatures, I’m told. You want to bring that nasty thing back to this nice settlement? I’d as soon just kill it dead when I find it.’
But the Leader was adamant. ‘We want it brought back unharmed. We wish to study it. Our scientists need it alive and fresh to fully understand the nature of its tissues.’
Ray seemed satisfied with this and shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps the Leader was implying the Blue would eventually be killed and possibly even tortured a bit first. That would suit Ray down to the ground.
‘Well, then, we are of one mind. I see that I was wise to call for you and your crew, rather than to leave this to the City guards. I will meet with you, Ray, tomorrow and we shall discuss this further. I’m sure now you are ready to rest and eat after your travels.’ The Leader rang a small bell and, a moment later, the maid reappeared in the doorway.
‘Show the Gunslingers out and gather their girl.’ He turned back to Ray. ‘Rest well — much relies on you in the future.’
The Gunslingers were taken from the house and shown to their quarters on another rooftop.
Tomorrow can’t come quick enough, Virgil thought. He couldn’t wait to ride away from the City’s walls. The nature of their dealings and the confines of the City were suffocating.
JESSY, summer, 62 A. Z.
THE TENSE-LOOKING LITTLE maid hastily showed me out of the office and pulled me down the hall to a room she called the ‘den’ — another over-decorated room, though slightly more relaxed in feel than the one we’d just left. I wanted to shake the lady’s grip off my arm, but fought back the urge, knowing she was only doing her job.
The maid said I was to stay put while she went to get the Grosvenors’ daughter, but I noticed a worried look cross her face as she spoke. Perhaps the Grosvenors’ daughter was snobby and wouldn’t want to play with a Gunslinger? If the rest of her family was anything to go by, she’d probably be a pompous little princess who’d curl her lip at the sight of me.
It was hard to sit still and wait. Anger boiled in my veins. How could Ray let that snotty lady kick me out of the room and call me a baby at the same time? I was a Gunslinger! I’d taken down Corpses at close range, breaking their skulls open. Babies didn’t do that. How could Ray let me be treated like a child when he’d repeatedly told me to stop acting like one.
But my fury fell away as soon as the door reopened and the maid came in, half-leading, half-dragging a tall, thin girl in a crumpled nightgown behind her. The girl swayed a bit on her long skinny legs before the maid pushed her into a chair opposite me. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was almost emaciated and her hair was matted from weeks of neglect. Her brown eyes had impossibly long lashes, but they were ringed in the deep purple of sickness and fatigue. Her skin was the palest I had ever seen on a living and breathing person, and flawless except for a cold sore on the top of her lip. It was the most troubling kind of beauty I’d ever seen. The sorry creature didn’t look up at me, just stared at the ground, clasping and unclasping her bony hands.
I felt instantly sorry for her. She might be surrounded by luxury and privilege, but she was clearly unwell, both physically and mentally.
‘Hi there. My name’s Jessy. What’s yours?’
The girl flinched as if she’d been physically bumped. After a moment she mumbled something, but I wasn’t sure if she was speaking to me or to herself.
I tried again, talking softly as I would to a frightened horse. ‘You know, it’s all right. We’re okay. We’re going to grow up and someday everything is going to make sense. This is just a rough time.’
The girl pulled a deep breath into her body and I could see she was listening. I continued to talk quietly. ‘I don’t want to be here either. This is all stupid. Everyone treats me like a child and tells me what to do.’ Then for some reason I told her about being taken from Tree Sanctuary and being forced into the harsh life of a Gunslinger. I didn’t know why I was confiding in this disturbed, mute girl, but I couldn’t stop. ‘I don’t think my parents even love me. If I died right now, they would probably just shrug their shoulders and continue on as if it was any other day.’
I had been looking down at the floor as I spoke, hoping to take the pressure off her, but when I looked up, the girl’s large eyes were locked on me and focused. Seizing my chance, I said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.’
The pale girl whispered, ‘Rose.’
CHRIS, summer, 62 A. Z.
HE COULD SMELL them in the hallway: Gunslingers, dirty, lawless people who stank of animals. These strange gypsies with their self-proclaimed importance and inflated egos had always irritated him. Everyone thought of them as heroes, rushing to rescue innocent citizens or going out of their way to help people travel safely. If people only knew them as they really were — drinkers, scavengers, social misfits living like animals out in the desert. It seemed ridiculous that people put so much faith in the Gunslingers, even reserving a messenger pigeon from each household to be trained to fly exclusively to their outpost.
Still, the m
eeting with the Gunslingers went just as Chris had planned. He had befriended their leader by appealing to Ray’s ego. Chris had let the Gunslinger believe he would be ‘saving’ the City by capturing Elliot and that Ray would be a hero for his efforts. It had worked beautifully — the Gunslingers would soon be out on the hunt.
Manipulating people was an art that Chris enjoyed. His theory was that every person was like a puzzle — some easy, some a bit more complicated. Getting what you wanted from them just took a little bit of thought. Luckily, most people were predictable, and Chris could use his most common tactics: false comradeship, an appeal to their sense of family, or tapping into their fears. Those usually worked. The Gunslingers’ leader had been an interesting challenge. None of the social norms or fears had been programmed into him — not like the people in the City whom he and the other Leaders had trained to think in a certain way. Ray Leighton was a madman, unconcerned with the City’s major values: duty and family. Chris had to appeal instead to Ray’s ego and animal side, challenging his ability to hunt and capture.
‘Do you really think you and your men can find the fugitives?’
‘Of course I can. That’s my desert,’ Ray had said.
‘Excellent. But what about once you find them? Can you keep your men safe and control the situation? The Blue might be dangerous.’
Ray laughed and answered, ‘That’s not a problem. I still don’t think it’s a good idea bringing that thing back here, but if you want it — to cut up or test or whatever — then fine.’
‘The City will be very appreciative of your efforts and will celebrate your name. We’ll say thank you with supplies, if that is agreeable to you?’
Ray’s eyes lit up. ‘It’s a deal.’
So, in the end, it hadn’t been hard to get what he needed from the Gunslinger. And things were going as planned. But still, Chris was uneasy. He might have saved his position as Leader, but at what cost? His son was being given up as a sacrifice, his daughters were distraught and his wife had turned into a maniacal monster. And Chris had a feeling that he liked himself even less now than he had before.
It’s all very well and good that people respect me and think highly of my intellect, Chris thought, but they don’t really know me. If they did, they would spit on me when I passed. I’m a false person and always have been. I chose power and luxury from the start — when I took Annette as my wife instead of Helen. All I’m doing is continuing along that path.
Chris stared down at his long fingers spread out before him on the desk and tried to remember what it was like to feel good about himself. Moments passed and he sighed. I’m a monster, he thought. It’s too late to change, and there is no way to undo what has already been set in motion.
HELEN, summer, 62 A. Z.
MR DING STOOD in the doorway of the Santos’ home. Helen was pleased to see him, and took hold of his arm to help him step up into the room. He was always welcome — kindly, polite and full of bizarre stories about life before the Infection. But he was also a mystery to Helen — incredibly old, living alone and as mentally sharp as a thirty-year-old. His eyes were ringed with laughter lines and his wispy hair was grey, but he did not look like a man in his late eighties.
They exchanged the usual niceties about one another’s week, how Helen’s boys were, before finally arriving at the real reason for his visit.
‘I remember, Helen, you once mentioned that you were friends with the Council Leader, Chris Grosvenor, when you were a student at Desert Camp. Am I correct?’
Helen was briefly taken aback. ‘Yes, I was. We were very—’ Helen paused, thinking of what to add — ‘close friends for some time. Why?’
Mr Ding smiled widely. ‘My dear, I’d like to ask a favour of you. It will seem a strange request, but I would very much appreciate it if you could use this old acquaintance to arrange an opportunity for me to meet the Blue causing all this fuss with that young lad. When they capture the creature, I wish to study it, learn what separates it from the others.’
Helen recalled the patient Lukas: the grey skin, his pleading with her not to lower him into the forest, the forlorn look he gave her from the ground. She shuddered. ‘Yes, I suppose so. I guess I can write him a letter and ask. But, Mr Ding, this could be really dangerous.’
‘I know, but don’t worry. I think these old bones have another trip left in them yet. Besides, I am fuelled by my curiosity. Don’t worry about me, my dear. I will be fine. I won’t keep you, but thank you.’
And with that, he pulled his slightly frayed robe around him and ducked out the door.
Chris had been more than just a friend to Helen when they were in their early twenties. They had spent countless hours together, talking and dreaming and eventually falling in love. She had expected him to ask for her hand. Actually, everyone had. But he had suddenly turned his attentions to another. Chris had wanted a life of politics and power. Helen had wanted nature and family. Still, the chemistry and affection between them had persisted, even if time had dulled the flame. They were able to continue on as friends. Someday they would even be in-laws when their children married.
So Helen would write to him. It would feel awkward putting ink to paper, but she knew it was unfounded nervousness. There was no harm in asking, and he might even agree.
ELLIOT, late summer, 62 A. Z.
ELLIOT LOOKED DOWN at the awkward figures bumping about below the Tower.
‘This valley has so many Deads in it,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen so many in one place.’
‘I know,’ Katie answered. ‘You know they’re kind of like my guards. Some of them even have names. Like that guy there.’ Katie pointed to a naked fat Zombie, his body pale and waxy, though his face was oddly darkened. His lips were missing, exposing brown teeth and black gums. ‘I call that fine specimen The Grub.’
‘Yuck, Katie! Why do you call him that?’
‘Look at him! He’s just like this thing I saw when I was a kid poking around under logs checking out bugs. I found this massive alien larva thing. It was all spongy and had a mouth like his.’
‘You’re so gross,’ Elliot teased. ‘What do you call that one?’ He pointed at a short Dead with a matted beard and a remarkable amount of body hair.
‘Oh. He’s special, that one,’ Katie said. ‘He’s a reminder of why one should wax before the apocalypse. I call him Meat Cloth.’
‘Sorry but I don’t get it.’
‘Look at him! He’s covered in bits of meat. Everything he eats sticks in all that hair. In the summer, he smells bad, like a rotting meaty wound.’
‘Katie! Now you’re just trying to make me sick.’
She looked at him and smiled slyly. ‘Have you noticed their poos?’
‘Poos? Kaka? No, not really. I did wonder about it once.’
Katie pointed out into the valley. ‘Some of them poo. Do you see that lady one, there? Notice her pants? Look how greasy they are around her bottom area.’
‘No! Really?’ Elliot grimaced. ‘So she’s just going in her pants?’
Katie’s laughter filled the room. ‘They poo out grease, as far as I can tell. Some of them don’t seem to poop at all though. I can’t really explain that.’
Elliot laughed with her until his ribs hurt and Katie let out one of her strange long hoots. He stared at the grey-eyed woman next to him, and marvelled at how irresistible and unexpected she was. He’d had more fun with her than he had with anyone in his entire life. But sometimes the fact she came from another time caught him out — her clothing, the words she used, her strange little sayings — as well as some of the changes she had from the Infection. He tried not to focus on them, but sometimes they were just there — like at night when they lay beside each other, and the silence of the desert allowed him to hear his own breathing … and the complete lack of hers. Or the time she cut herself deeply with a knife when she was preparing a bird for dinner. Katie didn’t bleed. A small trickle of dark blood leaked from the wound, but nothing more.
He hat
ed to admit to himself that she was so different from him, and wondered sometimes what she saw in him. He had nothing really to offer her, except himself. He hoped that was enough.
‘Hey, Elliot.’ Katie’s face was serious now. ‘Have you thought about it any more?’
Elliot swallowed. He had been trying not to think about it, but the possibility of the colony sending someone to take him back had been nagging at him for months.
‘I’m not going to go. They don’t own me and I’ll make my own decisions, not them.’
But the tiny seed of fear that Elliot had brought with him to the Tower had sprouted and was forcing him to acknowledge its thorny vines. Elliot was afraid of his parents. He could almost hear his mother’s hateful words, feel the anger seeping from every pore in her body, however far away she was. His parents weren’t the kind of people to just let matters be. They weren’t accepting of individualistic behaviour, much less blatant defiance of the rules. There would be some kind of punishment awaiting him, and it would be more than just strong words.
Elliot shuddered, and tried instead to focus on the pile of fabric and bits of rug in front of him — his first attempt at making carpet armour. The extra protection might come in handy someday, at least when it came to Zombies. When he was finished, he planned on making a helmet with a protective drape for his neck
He had come up with the idea of armour the very first time Katie brought him through the valley to her Tower. She’d had to lure the Zombies into one area with a sack of dead rabbits and then, while the Deads tore at the bag for their meal, she quickly snuck Elliot behind them. The couple of stragglers that came at him she pushed aside. But Elliot realised that if all of them had come in a mob, there was no way Katie would have been able to stop them. That would have been it.
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