Reckoning in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  “Just give him a few minutes.”

  After a while, Mario heard a few tentative crunches, soon followed by more. He slipped more of the crushed crackers into the carrier, this time a little closer to the entrance. Ten minutes later, Mister Bun Bun’s nose poked out of the open door. Mario could feel Silas’ body tense with excitement, but he didn’t reach for the rabbit. After a few more minutes, the rabbit took a tentative hop out.

  Silas looked up to Mario, eyes bright. Mario thought Silas would burst when the bunny hopped into his lap. Gently, Silas began to stroke the rabbit.

  “It’s okay, Mister Bun Bun,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I knew Mario would get you ’cause he promised.”

  A surge of tenderness swelled inside Mario’s chest. Silas had needed to insist—to shriek and struggle—to hold Mario to his promise. He wasn’t sure if the boy truly believed what he’d said or not. Even so, his words filled Mario’s eyes with tears. The trust of a child, the simple sweetness of their belief, made him want to sob. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to feel the fierce protectiveness that swept through his chest like a wildfire. He didn’t want to feel like he couldn’t let this child down. He didn’t want Silas’ trust. What if he broke it?

  What he wanted didn’t matter—it had already happened. Silas and Violet needed him. He couldn’t turn away.

  Silas’ head began to droop, then snapped up.

  “Come on, Silas,” he said, patting the boy’s head. “Let’s lie down and rest.”

  Silas nodded, his face filled with fatigue. “Mister Bun Bun, too.”

  Mario smiled. “Mister Bun Bun, too.”

  He took the rabbit from Silas’ lap. It had stopped shaking and nestled itself into the crook of his arm. Its fur was soft against his hand, and the wiggling nose and whiskers, the brightness of its black eyes, soothed his frazzled nerves. He’d been an asshole to think of leaving the rabbit. It needed his protection as much as Silas and Violet did.

  Silas crawled onto the bed. Mario lay beside him. The mattress smelled faintly of mildew and strongly of dust. He set the rabbit on Silas’ tummy. Silas petted Mister Bun Bun for a few minutes, then turned on his side, cradling the rabbit to him.

  “I knew you’d save us,” Silas whispered, his voice heavy with sleep.

  Silas’ breathing grew deep and regular, despite the moans and hisses of the zombies filling the streets outside. Mario turned to nestle Silas against him, his arm draped over the boy’s slender body, the rabbit’s fur a soft caress against his hand. This boy, who had lost his father somewhere along the line, snuggled close. And he, who loved but had abandoned his children, and lost another son before he was born, cradled him.

  He’d loved Tadpole, but hadn’t been able to grieve for him, not properly. Not the way he’d wanted to, with his mother. Softly, Mario wept, until exhaustion pulled him under, too.

  10

  “You’re shitting me,” Rocco said.

  “Not one little bit,” Rich answered.

  “Huh,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

  Miranda tried, and failed, to smother a yawn. Rocco had set up his office as LO’s commander in the back of the Boy’s Home dining hall, where there was a hallway of offices and storerooms. His office was the same one where Victor, the mercenary from San Jose, had told them who had ordered the failed attack on LO that he’d been part of. She thought it was strange that Rocco chose this one, until she remembered he hadn’t been there for that gem of a conversation—

  Not thinking about that, she told herself. Not my problem.

  “Kendall Grant, huh?” Rocco looked thoughtful. “Just how weird is the guy, after spending all that time on his own?”

  “Kinda?” Miranda said. “I don’t think interpersonal skills were ever his strong suit. But considering how long he’s been there, it could be a lot worse.”

  “Agreed,” Alec said, nodding his head. “Too many people for too long stresses him out. He runs off and hides.”

  “Sounds about right,” Rocco said. “You didn’t see where the food is stored, or an armory?”

  Rich shook his head. “No, but it’s got to be there. Capacity for a hundred people for five years, I think. There might be another level below the one we were on.”

  Alec said, “If he’s going to show it to anyone, it’ll be Miranda.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes, noticing Alec’s grin. “Don’t start,” she warned him.

  “He’s got a crush on Tucci?” Rocco said, brightening. “We could use that.”

  “Let’s back up right now,” Miranda said. “I am not a hooker. I think he’d have found any woman attractive after so long. Assuming he’s straight.”

  “He did take a shine to you,” Rich said, his tone matter-of-fact. “He was more relaxed around you, easier to talk to. Just less jittery overall.”

  “Even so,” Miranda said. “I am not whoring myself out to ‘work’ that angle. No way.”

  “Tucci,” Rocco said. “No one is suggesting that you do anything like that. Just… Show a little interest, you know?”

  “Maybe I should smile more?” she said.

  Rocco looked at her, pained. “How likely do you all think it is that he’ll trade for or give us anything?”

  “No idea,” Rich said. “He’s been there a long time. He has to get used to being around people first. He’s jumpier than a cat in room full of rockers.”

  Miranda thought about what they were proposing, not liking the taste of it in her mouth.

  “You’re all thinking about this backwards. This can’t be about what Kendall can do for us, but what can we do for him. He’s been locked in a prison—a swank one, but still—for a decade. I know we need the food, but how do you think he’ll react if we sidle up to him just to get his shit? I’m sure he got enough of that in the old days.”

  “So what do you think we should do, assuming we don’t starve in the meantime?” Rocco asked her.

  “I think we should hold off talking to him about our food situation. We should hold off telling him anything. He needs people to show a genuine interest in him, as a human being. If we do that, the rest will fall in line on its own. He’s a person, not a goldmine.”

  “He’s a bit of a goldmine,” Alec said.

  Miranda ignored him. “I saw a man who’s dying of loneliness.”

  Confusion in his voice, Rocco said, “I thought you didn’t even like him.”

  Miranda shrugged. “I’m not sure I do, but I saw these glimmers of…” She cast around for a word. “Humanity, I guess.”

  Miranda thought of the time she’d spent with Kendall in the garden in the middle of the night. Even when they hadn’t talked, he’d seemed starved for companionship. She closed her eyes for a moment, the beauty of his singing a faint echo she could still hear. It had been so beautiful, but now, being back in LO, it also seemed pathetically sad.

  They lapsed into silence. Rocco pursed his lips, looking pissed off. Then he said, “You’re right, Tucci. Of course you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You were thinking we need food now. And that more weapons wouldn’t hurt, and he probably has both.”

  “Well, I feel like a jerk,” said Rich.

  Alec nodded. “Me too.”

  “And that,” Miranda said. “Is why women should run everything.”

  That cracked some smiles on their faces, which was fine, but she was completely serious.

  “If there’s nothing else, Rocco, I’d like to go see my wife and kids,” said Rich.

  “Yeah, of course.” Rocco looked at Alec. “So. You need to move here.”

  “I heard that might be the case,” Alec said.

  “Not might,” Rocco said, suddenly looking fierce, like he had a kid to protect. “You are. I told your council that was the deal. You don’t like it, I don’t care.”

  Miranda smiled, noting the surprise on Alec’s face. She and Rich had told him, but apparently he hadn’t quite believed them.

  “W
ell, if you feel that strongly,” he said.

  “I’m glad we understand each other,” Rocco said. “You wanna get your stuff now, or get something to eat first?”

  “Now would be fine,” said Alec uncertainly. He clearly hadn’t expected this to happen so fast.

  “Okay, good.” Rocco narrowed his eyes. “Where the hell is Phineas? He should be here, too.”

  “He said he’ll come see you, but he had something to do,” Miranda said. “I told him he was taking his life into hands.”

  “That fucking kid,” Rocco muttered. “Good thing he’s all right, or I’d wanna smack him.” He looked back to Alec. “I’ll find someone to take you to get your stuff. And don’t get any ideas that once you get there, you can change your mind.”

  Alec held up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I just need to speak to some people so they don’t think I’ve disappeared.”

  “Some people?” Miranda smirked. Alec got a little pink, which surprised her.

  Rocco said, “Okay, just sayin’.” Almost to himself, he said, “I don’t know how anyone stands it over there.”

  Alec smiled, but didn’t contradict him.

  When they stood to leave, Rocco said, “I need to talk to you, Tucci.”

  She smothered another yawn, said goodbye to Rich while Alec excused himself to the hallway, and sat back down, sliding low to slouch in her chair. Delilah resettled herself on the floor with a groan when she realized that they weren’t yet leaving.

  “What’s up?” she asked when they were alone.

  Rocco leaned back in his seat and looked at her from across his desk. Unlike Commander Smith’s piles of books and papers that had been prone to avalanching, Rocco’s desk was neat as a pin.

  “You look like shit, Tucci,” he said. “You feeling okay?”

  “Rich was a lot more polite when he asked.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not Rich.”

  Miranda rubbed at her eyes, which were starting to itch, and yawned. This time, she didn’t bother trying to hide it.

  “I’m tired,” she admitted. It made her uncomfortable when people asked how she was doing. It usually led to wanting to talk to her about everything that had happened. The less she thought about it—never mind talked—the better.

  “Still not sleeping so well?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes better than others. You know how it is.”

  Rocco gave her a long, appraising look that said he wasn’t buying it. She didn’t know what else to tell him. It was the truth.

  “You should try that valerian root tea that River makes. It works pretty good.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  After a pause, Rocco asked, “You having bad dreams?”

  She blinked at him, feeling caught out. It wasn’t that she thought Rocco was totally clueless, but she’d also never thought of him as overly perceptive when it came to reading people emotionally.

  “Sometimes,” she admitted, not looking him in the eye. She didn’t like this line of questioning, but Rocco was a bull in a china shop. Well-meaning, but still a bull, with a streak of dog with a bone. It was easier to just cop to it—to a degree.

  Rocco nodded. “You’ve had a lot happen the past few months.”

  Also true, and also nothing to be done about it, so she said nothing.

  “So…” he said. “Kendall. You seem to have a pretty good read on him.”

  “Not any better than Rich.”

  “You got us back on track about how to deal with the guy, so I’m thinking you do.”

  She thought for a moment, then said, “I spent a little time with him in the gardens. It was the middle of the night; I couldn’t sleep.” Fuck, she thought. She didn’t need to give Rocco more ammunition. “Kendall just happened to be there. I thought he was an asshole after our first conversation, to be honest. Then I decided I might be jumping to conclusions and should get to know him better. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t… He’s been so isolated for so long. I might be a bit rusty on the social graces, too, if I were in his shoes.”

  Rocco snorted. “You might be? Tucci, you already are.”

  She chuckled. “Anyway…that’s just the sense I got. That he’s starved for human contact, and that it’ll be worse now that we’ve been there.”

  “Plan to stay longer when you head back.”

  “But the food scouting…you need me and Rich. We can make it a little safer.”

  “I know,” Rocco said. “But this could make them unnecessary. I think you’re better utilized getting to know this guy. I’d like to send River with you to check him out, but I don’t think introducing another person to the mix is a good idea.”

  “He gets overwhelmed one-on-one.”

  Rocco raised an eyebrow. “Even with you?”

  “The guys say he’s more relaxed around me. Easier to talk to. If it’s true, it isn’t saying much.” She added, almost as an afterthought, “He wasn’t so keen on Phineas.”

  Rocco’s brow furrowed. “Everybody likes Phineas. Even I like Phineas. He’s a good kid.”

  “Alec was teasing me about Kendall liking me. You know, like liking.” She shrugged. “And you know Phineas…”

  “The eternal campaign to get into Miranda’s pants.”

  “The not-so-serious campaign…”

  “It’s more serious than you think,” Rocco said. “Should we not send Phineas back?”

  “Fuck no,” she said, sitting up straighter. “If he’s got a crush or whatever, I’m not changing who my friends are and how we are with each other.” Then she amended, “Unless we’re actually starving. I know he’s been alone for ten years, but he’ll just have to deal. If he likes me that way.”

  She stood up. “I’ll do my best to be the guy’s friend, see if I can get him to trust me, but that’s it.”

  “Fair enough,” Rocco said. “But if you think he’s sweet on you, don’t rule out playing along. Okay?”

  “Rocco…”

  “You know how much trouble we’re in. Just think about it. You’re gonna have your hands full getting to be his friend, so it probably doesn’t matter.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked. “I can be his friend.”

  “Getting him to trust you,” Rocco said. “You’re not very good at it. Makes it kinda hard to teach.”

  “I trust people,” she said. It came out more defensive than she meant it to. “I’m going to sack out for a few hours. I’ll see you later.”

  Rocco stood and walked around his desk. He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked to the door. “You do that, Tucci. Good to have you back.”

  “Good to be back. C’mon, Liley.”

  They left the office. Rocco said to Alec, “Okay. Let’s get you a driver.”

  Miranda waved goodbye and started down the hallway. Rocco called after her.

  “Get that tea from River. I’m serious, Tucci…you look like hell.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” she said, giving him the one-finger salute over her shoulder.

  She sighed as she walked away. She’d have to get the tea now; he’d check. Underneath his gruff exterior, Rocco was just a big softie. She’d never give him away, but right now, with this, it made him a bit of a pain in the ass because he cared. She didn’t have to drink the tea, though, just get some.

  If only tea could provide a solution. She was suffering from insomnia, both getting to sleep and, when she finally did, staying that way. But it wasn’t sleeping that was the biggest problem. It was dreaming.

  Miranda’s eyelids cracked open to a squint. She squeezed them shut again and groaned.

  Sun streamed through the window. She’d forgotten to pull the curtains last night. Obviously. She crawled out of bed and yanked the curtains shut. The bright sunlight was replaced by a soothing gray gloom that didn’t send lightning bolts shooting through her brain. She checked her watch: 6:35 a.m.

  Three hours, fuck me, she thought. She’d been home a week, but her quest to get enough sleep was coming up
short. She took one step toward her bed, then her foot shot out from under her. Her butt slammed against the floor, followed by the hard smack of her head against the windowsill.

  “Ow,” she said, leaning forward, the room swimming through the tears filling her eyes. Gingerly, she touched the back of her head. She could tell already that she was going to get a goose egg of a bump. She searched the room to see what had pulled her feet out from under her.

  “What the— Oh.”

  An empty cider bottle lay several feet away. She had a vague recollection of ending up by the window last night when she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. She must have set the bottle on the floor when she finished, or dropped it. Either way, the result was the same.

  She didn’t have any ice, but she might be able to get some from Noelle. She didn’t want to go to River. She’d get the third degree about how she’d smacked her head, and then she’d have to lie. But she had to get the thumping—from this bump as well as what was shaping up to be a monster hangover—down to something tolerable if she was going to do her morning run. She’d made a rule for herself when she decided to stay here rather than go back to San Jose; if she didn’t run, she couldn’t drink.

  She shook her head to clear it, despite the pain and pounding the motion produced. She padded down to the kitchen in bare feet and pulled the fridge open. There was still a cider inside.

  “Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered, popping the top and taking a healthy swig. A little hair of the dog would help the hangover. She finished the cider before she noticed that Delilah hadn’t joined her.

  “Liley,” she called.

  Nothing.

  She walked halfway down the hall. The front door was open an inch. Gemma—Noelle’s three-year-old daughter, must have come in and collected the dog. She did it every time Miranda forgot to lock the door, and LO wasn’t the kind of place where you needed to lock your door. She’d been making a concerted effort to lock it though, because Noelle didn’t like Gemma wandering off. Before she’d been pregnant, Miranda had thought Noelle was a little over the top with the hypervigilance. She got it now.