Reckoning in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  The melodies and harmonies converged in a way that filled her body, a longing that stretched toward a beauty that would always be just beyond her fingertips. The final note, crystalline, hummed in the silence that followed its end. Still, she didn’t move, but listened to the hum suspended in its wake. When she opened her eyes, tears still slipping down her face, Kendall was looking at her. A mixture of surprise and embarrassment filled his brown eyes. She hadn’t noticed what a beautiful shade of light brown they were before.

  “That was beautiful,” she whispered. He looked down at the floor, a flush of color filling his face. “I’m sorry,” she said, swiping at her face. “I wasn’t trying to intrude. It just…stopped me in my tracks.”

  She saw a tiny smile twitch at the corner of Kendall’s mouth. He looked up at her again, embarrassed but pleased. “It’s Palestrina. ‘Sicut Cervus.’”

  She moved closer, coming to a stop a few feet shy of him. “Latin?”

  He nodded. “It’s the same. Throughout the whole song, I mean.” He stopped and looked at the ceiling, shifting from one foot to the other. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “The lyrics repeat until the end… Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum, ita desiderat anima mea ad te, Deus.” He dragged his eyes down from the ceiling and did the blinking owl thing. “Like as the hart desireth the waterbrooks—”

  “E’vn so, longeth my soul after Thee, oh God,” Miranda finished. “The forty-second Psalm.”

  “Yes,” Kendall said, the owl blink becoming more rapid. “How did you know?”

  “Seriously Catholic nana. And my best friend is a priest.” Then she shrugged her shoulders and added, “Was a priest. He fell in love.”

  Kendall nodded, but didn’t say more. She looked at the bench, littered with empty pots, soil still clinging to their insides. Larger pots, with plants in earth still loose around them, were arranged at the table’s end in neat rows.

  “What are you doing with these guys—repotting?”

  Kendall nodded again.

  She walked the last few feet to the table. “Pardon my reach,” she said, leaning past him to pick up a larger clay pot from those stacked neatly beside him.

  She picked up a plant and got to work. Kendall pushed the empty pots and the container of soil over, so that both were within easy reach. He tapped on a remote on the shelf behind him, and the music started again. This time, he didn’t sing along. She hated to think that she was the reason he no longer sang, but of course she was. Kendall was as at ease when he sang as he was awkward while conversing. She wanted to listen to him sing some more, and even opened her mouth to say so, until she thought better of it. He was unused to having other people near, never mind singing for them. It was clearly something special to him. If she hadn’t stumbled upon it, she’d have never heard him. She would never have known.

  Never stop a child singing… Her nana had said that more times than Miranda could count. She’d always understood it in terms of what not to do: don’t stop a child being joyful; don’t squash their capacity for joy and wonder. But she realized now it was more than that. It wasn’t only about avoiding harm, but nurturing the spirit. Kendall stood just two feet away, humming the melody, when before he had sung. She felt the diminishment that her presence, however inadvertent, had caused. She had stopped a child singing, even though he was a grown man.

  She focused on the plants in front of her, letting the music carry her on its rise and fall. A feeling of calm that she hadn’t felt in what seemed like years, but was only since she lost Tadpole, enveloped her. Kendall didn’t need the food. He grew these plants so he had something to do, so he didn’t go crazy. He sang along to this music, the addition of his voice making it even more beautiful, to be a part of something. To nurture the need that all people have to be connected to one another.

  She glanced at him sidelong. He noticed and cautiously returned her smile. She would befriend him if she could. She would try to back-burner her expectations of what he might be able to give LO, even though they desperately needed the food he must have. He was awkward, possibly smug. He might be a bit of a prick, maybe a complete one; she just didn’t know.

  What she knew about Kendall would fit in a thimble, but she’d learned something about him tonight. She knew that he sang like an angel. It was as good a place as any to start.

  Three hours later, they were getting ready to head out. Miranda paced in the central dining area, growing more impatient by the second. She wanted to leave instead of farting around while Phineas took one last look to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. The whole point of a doomsday bunker was to be self-contained, but despite its luxury and abundance, she was starting to feel constrained by its purpose.

  “Anxious to hit the road?” Rich asked.

  “Shows, huh?”

  He smiled. “Just a little.”

  Kendall had disappeared half an hour ago, despite knowing that they were soon departing. If he didn’t show soon, they were going to need to knock on the door of his dome to say goodbye. Not to mention get out; they didn’t know the codes to unlock the doors.

  “Where’d Kendall go?” Rich asked.

  Miranda shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Did you get any sleep? You look terrible.”

  “A little,” she said. “I may have drunk a little too much the last few days.”

  “More sleep and less booze is always a good combination. Might wanna try it, darlin’.”

  Miranda looked at Rich sidelong. “You are one of the few people who never lecture me, Rich, but you keep this up and you’ll break your streak.”

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  Phineas returned, his restless energy hitting Miranda like a wave—the kind that knocks you down and beats the shit out of you. He confirmed they hadn’t forgotten anything.

  “Where is everybody?” he asked.

  “I’m here,” Alec said, walking in from one of the lounges. He pointed over his shoulder to his thumb. “I grabbed a few toothbrushes from the bathroom. I think there must have been a dentist coming here. There’s loads of them in every one.”

  “Where’s Kendall? He’s knows we’re leaving, right?” Phineas said.

  “Yeah, he knows. He’ll be out soon,” she said. Then added, “I think.”

  “I’m grabbing a snack,” Phineas said, leaving for the kitchen.

  Miranda rubbed her eyes, wishing she’d been able to get more sleep, but also glad that she’d spent time with Kendall. The music still echoed in her head, the melody haunting but beautiful.

  Kendall appeared, entering from the lounge beside the movie theater. He looked freshly showered and wore faded black jeans and a tan tee shirt that made his eyes stand out. For the first time, she wondered how old he was. He was one of those people who could be anything from twenty-five to forty. He pushed up his glasses. The prescription had to be years out of date.

  “Hey, Kendall,” Rich said, “We’re ready to head out.”

  Kendall nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality. We really appreciate it,” Rich added.

  “We do,” Alec said. “It was very gracious of you to let us stay.”

  Kendall nodded. He looked flustered, unused to such praise.

  Phineas beelined over from the kitchen, wiping his mouth. “Thanks, Kendall,” he said, thrusting out his hand.

  Kendall looked at Phineas’ hand like he was being offered a pile of dog shit. Maybe it was because Phineas had just used it to wipe his face, or maybe another reason. Slowly, he took Phineas’ hand for a millisecond, then let go like it scalded.

  The guys put on their packs and followed Kendall to the interior door of the airlock. Miranda held one of the straps of her pack in one hand, and Delilah’s leash in the other. She lingered behind to take a last look around. The central dining area was as beautiful as ever, with the gleaming wood tables and bright chandelier. Through the open doors of the various rooms—library and theater—and the lounges and ki
tchen that were open to it, she saw all the comforts and luxuries of home as it had once been. And the necessities, too, in the Medical-Surgical and Classroom suites. She couldn’t see the swimming pool and gardens, nor the gym, but knew they were there. Hours of visual and reading entertainment, so much food—and the ability to prepare it deliciously—and more wine and liquor than a person could drink. Unless they went on a yearslong, first-class bender, which would be understandable.

  She turned away, walking toward the voices down the hall, Delilah’s nails clicking on the finished concrete. A leaden feeling settled on her chest. This whole place depressed her, and they were leaving Kendall here alone.

  She heard Rich ask, “We’ll be back in a few weeks, maybe sooner, if that’s still okay with you?”

  Kendall nodded, and Rich stepped through the airlock door. Delilah trotted up to Kendall, tail wagging. He reached down to pet her and gave the pit bull a dog biscuit, as well as one of the few easy smiles that Miranda had seen. He straightened up when Miranda reached him.

  “Thank you so much, Kendall,” she said. “Thanks for letting us come in.”

  He nodded, his head bobbing as if it were on a tight hinge that restricted his range of motion. He pushed up his glasses, and she could see that his eyes were…frightened? He opened the compressed, thin line of his mouth, then didn’t say anything. Miranda waited, resisting the urge to prompt him. When he finally did speak, his voice was thick with anxiety.

  “You are coming back, right?”

  She tried to keep her voice cheerful. “Yes. We said we would.”

  He nodded again, looking unconvinced. “I mean…it would be understandable if you didn’t. I—” He gulped, then muttered, his eyes sliding to the floor, “People have never been something I was…good at.”

  His fear they wouldn’t come back was palpable. She reached out and took his hand in hers. His head snapped up.

  “We’ll come back, Kendall.”

  He attempted a weak smile but wasn’t able to pull it off. She let go of her pack. As it thumped to the floor, she stepped close and wrapped her arms around him. He almost jumped, clearly not expecting the hug. He was thinner than she expected. His clothes fit but made him look like he had more meat on his bones. He had that fresh smell from basic soap. No scent, which surprised her. She’d assumed that he’d use something fancier. For a few seconds he just stood there, tense, his arms at his sides like a kid being forced to hug an unfamiliar relative. Then he relaxed. His arms came up to rest lightly—if awkwardly—on her shoulder blades.

  “I want to hear you sing again,” she whispered.

  She felt his head nod. She gave a little squeeze, then released him. He stepped back, looking surprised, and doing the owl blink. He smiled, tentatively, but unlike his other attempt, this one reached his eyes.

  “I’d… Like that.”

  She gave his shoulder a squeeze, then picked up and shrugged into her pack. Delilah followed her into the airlock. It closed behind her with a thud that reverberated through her body. The outer airlock door unlocked, and they stepped through, single file.

  The walk to the outer blast door was mostly silent, apart from Phineas hoping they wouldn’t run afoul of another tiger. They’d discussed whether the bunker had listening devices, so were saving real discussion for when they were outside.

  When they got to the blast door, it slowly opened. When the cool, moist air filled Miranda’s lungs, she felt her spirits rise. She paused on the stoop of the bunker, exhaling the last of the bunker’s recycled air and replacing it with a deep inhale of air from Earth’s atmosphere, all the way to the very bottom of her lungs. The scents of the forest filled her nose, the fresh smell of water from a recent rain shower, the pungent earthy smell of decomposing humus that blanketed the forest floor, all the more pleasantly fragrant for being damp. A light breeze caressed her cheek as she blinked, needing a moment to transition from the indoor light to the watery sunshine, even though they’d only been underground for a few days. She wondered what it would be like for Kendall to come outside, into the sun, after being underground so long. He’d probably need special sun protection for his eyes.

  Delilah strained at the leash, nose twitching, eager to explore and move now that they were somewhere with so many scents and room to run. Miranda wished she could let her run off-leash, but she didn’t want to run into another tiger any more than Phineas did. They watched the blast door close, the slight hiss of the hydraulics that controlled the door’s movement no match for the birdsong. When the door thudded shut, they stood for a moment. Miranda raised her hand at the camera and waved. When Alec saw her, he waved, too.

  No one spoke until they were a good hundred feet away, picking their way through the trees. Miranda let the guys do the heavy lifting conversationally, mostly answering questions and giving her opinion when they asked. Her mind was still back at the bunker. It would be worse for Kendall, now that they were gone. Like when you realized you were ravenous after a bite of food, when the moment before eating had been the furthest thing from your mind. He’d probably been getting along okay, but they’d interrupted the homeostasis of his existence. Despite his awkwardness, he was desperately hungry for human connection. No matter how fabulous the trimmings might be, the bunker was still just a place.

  “If you had to get stuck somewhere, you could do a lot worse,” Alec said, the burr of his accent catching Miranda’s ear and pulling her from her thoughts.

  “Indeed,” Rich said, his soft Southern drawl a gentler counterpoint to Alec’s. “It’s ironic, in a way. He had more than he could ever use before, and he still does.”

  Phineas sighed. “I should have watched more movies.”

  Miranda smiled a little at that. Despite what he thought, he was such a kid.

  “You’re quiet, Miranda,” Rich said. “What did you think of it all?”

  Miranda thought for a moment, then said, “I think he’s incredibly lonely. And that place? It’s a prison.”

  9

  Mario could hear Skye’s voice in the main room as he gathered up the few belongings he’d brought over from the yacht.

  “Laura didn't like it. But Pa was on the wagon seat and Jack was under the wagon; she knew that nothing could hurt her while Pa and Jack were there. At last the—”

  “Does Jack kill zombies?” Silas asked.

  “No,” Skye said. “Jack is just a regular dog, and there are no z—”

  “Brindle,” said Violet. “Jack’s a brindle bulldog.”

  “That’s right,” Skye said.

  “What’s brindle again?” asked Silas.

  “Brindle’s the color and pattern of Jack’s fur. You know how some dogs are more than one color?” There was a pause, for nodding heads, Mario guessed. “Brindle is a few colors all mixed up: black and brown and orange, and it’s usually kind of stripey.”

  Silas said, “Is it just brindle dogs that don’t kill zombies?”

  “No,” Skye said, chuckling.

  As Mario walked into the room, Silas said, sounding grave, “It doesn’t seem like a good idea to have a dog like that, even if Jack’s nice.”

  Skye sat on the couch between Silas and Violet, the battered copy of Little House on the Prairie in her lap.

  “What doesn’t seem like a good idea, Silas?” said Skye.

  “A dog that doesn’t kill zombies.”

  Skye sighed, looking exasperated.

  “You’re fighting a losing battle,” Mario said. “My kids had a terrible time understanding a world without zombies when they were really small.”

  “Oh,” Skye said.

  The front door opened and Doug’s head popped through it. “Everyone ready to go?”

  “Morning,” Mario said.

  “How’d you sleep last night?” Doug asked, his eyes bright.

  “Well enough,” Mario replied, lying through his teeth.

  He’d barely slept at all. He’d had dreams about Miranda. They seemed to come in batches, usually as vari
ations on a theme. Last night it was a Miranda who didn’t know him, or didn’t remember him, or who couldn’t see him. He gave up on sleeping entirely around four in the morning.

  “How about you?”

  Doug grinned. “Like a baby. It was nice hearing all the familiar creaks the yacht makes.”

  “I’ll bet you slept like a baby,” Mario said. “Creaks my ass.”

  Doug smirked, but said nothing more. He and Skye had slept on the yacht the last two nights, since some presence on the yacht seemed prudent. From the improvement in both of their moods, the alone time didn’t hurt, either. Since they’d found the children, if you saw Doug or Skye, you also saw Silas or Violet—or both. They had to wait until the kids were asleep, then sneaked out like a pair of teenagers with promises to be back before they woke up.

  “Okay you two,” Skye said. “Time to go. We’ll read more later.”

  “You’re coming with us, right?”

  Silas’ voice was anxious, his face pinched with worry from one blink of the eye to the next. He looked so much like Anthony, with his grave expression and dark eyes, that Mario’s breath caught in his abruptly tight throat.

  “We’re all going together,” Skye said. “If you still don’t want to try the rowboat, then me and Doug and Mario are going to walk with you and Violet, and Tessa will take the rowboat to the yacht.”

  “Okay,” Silas said, but he sounded uneasy.

  “That rowboat is easy-peasy,” Doug said. “It’ll be over almost as soon as it starts.” He crossed the room and picked up Violet. “If we walk, I call Violet to ride on my back.”

  Violet squealed, her delight as Doug swooped her up and down shining in her face.

  “Don’t get them riled up,” Mario cautioned.