Reckoning in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  Miranda and Mario were staying in the guesthouse at Mario and Emily’s house in Palo Alto. Violet too, some nights. The residents of the walled community had traded the members of the Council living among them to the tribunal convening in San Jose in exchange for being left alone—for now. There had been grumbling about this, but the Jesuits had made the case for dealing with one thing at a time. They’d also made it clear that everyone complicit with the Council had to be held accountable eventually. Miranda found the response of Palo Alto’s residents to the looming tribunals, and the Truth and Reconciliation plan that would follow, amusing. They ranged from serious ass-kissing of the Jesuits to those who tried to flee. So far, those who opted for flight had ended up in the city jail in San Jose. All of it was a startling reversal of fortune for those who’d thought themselves removed from the nastier side of what had made their lives seem so idyllic.

  Miranda and Mario were also here because Palo Alto still had some of the best security in the Valley. In the many town hall meetings and forums since the Council was deposed, Father Walter had told the people of the Valley that Mario had been on their side all along. That he’d gone undercover at Father Walter’s request, and was responsible for not only getting the vaccine back, but developing another in Portland. Despite his efforts, there was a growing faction that wanted him tried for war crimes. With all the comings and goings at SCU as the citizens of the Valley worked together with the Jesuits to establish a real form of governance, SCU’s security was too porous. Father Walter was afraid that Mario wouldn’t be safe there, and Miranda agreed.

  Turning away from watching the children through the window, Miranda said, “Violet fits like she’s always been here.”

  “She does,” Emily agreed. She pulled plates from the cupboard and set them on the counter. “I thought it would take longer for them to bond like this. I’m sure they’ll make up for it when they’re teenagers. Bets on which of us gets ‘You’re not my mom’ first?”

  Miranda almost forced a laugh, but couldn’t manage it. She bit her lip, then said, “Are you sure this isn’t too weird, us being here?”

  Emily reached out and gave her arm a squeeze. “It’s not. I really am happy for you two.”

  Emily’s voice was steady, her manner confident and self-assured. Miranda hadn’t seen her like this since before zombies. She’d almost forgotten this Emily had ever existed.

  “I’m not happy you had to run for your lives, or for the way Mario left,” Emily continued. “But I’m better than I’ve been in a long time. I don’t think—no, I know that would never have happened if Mario and I were still together.”

  Something had happened between Mario and Emily. They might still be married on paper, but they’d come to a resolution; their marriage was over. They both seemed relieved, yet closer than ever. It made Miranda feel unsure—of herself, of Mario, and Emily, too, and how they fit together.

  Voices carried in from the foyer, followed by the soft click of the front door being closed. Moments later Mario, Tessa, Father Walter, Karen, and Doug and Skye trooped into the kitchen. Karen rushed across the room to them.

  “Is she wearing heels?” Miranda asked Emily under her breath.

  “Oh yeah,” Emily said.

  Then Karen was in front of her. Miranda gave her friend a hug, and let the shoes slide.

  Candles lit the table, which was littered with napkins and half-full wine and water glasses. Whatever unease Miranda had felt before was gone, sloughed away by the food and wine, and the comfort of being with the people who’d been with her since the beginning. Tessa and Skye weren’t those people, technically, but it felt like they were. The old, familiar rhythms of conversation had settled in like they’d never been interrupted. It was a welcome break from the simmering tension of the last week.

  Emily sat at one end of the table, Father Walter the other. Doug and Emily were on the same corner and had talked a mile a minute through the entire meal. Karen was dating another jerk who, unsurprisingly, had bailed instead of coming with her tonight like he’d promised.

  Miranda also sat at one of the table’s corners, by Father Walter. She leaned toward him, taking his hand.

  “It’s been great craic tonight,” she said.

  “Great craic altogether,” Father Walter agreed. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again. Having you here is a miracle.”

  “Oh, please,” Miranda said, scoffing good-naturedly. “I’ve never been a miracle. Now that,” she said, tipping her head ever so slightly toward Doug and Skye. “That’s a miracle.”

  Father Walter snorted softly. When he spoke, his voice was amused. “He thinks I’m angry with him.”

  “Are you?”

  “Ah no, of course not. God’s plan for him changed. Vocations aren’t for everyone.” His voice lowered confidentially. “If I’d met Skye when I was younger, the priesthood might not have been for me, either.”

  Miranda laughed. “It’s good to be home.”

  Father Walter’s smile faded. His hazel eyes, which reminded her of Alec—except that Walter’s were even more startlingly beautiful—became serious. “Miranda, you know we need to talk to him again.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “He doesn’t want to hear it.”

  Mario’s hand slid over hers. “What are you two talking about?”

  Miranda looked at him. “Nothing really.”

  Mario said, teasing, “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  Father Walter jumped in and said, “We’re just talking about what’s going on right now. We can talk about it later.”

  The other conversations around the table were winding down, and almost everyone else looked their way. Miranda felt Mario’s hand tense around hers before he pulled it away. His face seemed to shutter in on itself. A little too loudly, he said, “You mean you wanting us to leave.”

  “Let’s talk about it later,” Miranda said, acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on them.

  Mario shook his head. Testily he said, “Why don’t we talk about it now?”

  She could see he thought they were ganging up on him, and this wasn’t the place to have this discussion. But if he wanted to do it here, fine.

  “It’s not just Father Walter who thinks we need to leave. I think so, too. So does Doug,” Miranda said.

  Doug nodded. Karen’s lips screwed into an unhappy frown.

  “She’s right, Mario,” Father Walter said gently. “We shouldn’t need to have this conversation, but it’s not a small faction anymore and it’s growing. If you stay, you’re going to end up before the tribunal.”

  “I’m not leaving my family behind,” Mario said, as if his word was final.

  “It’s your family you should be thinking of,” Father Walter said.

  “This whole thing is bullshit,” Emily said. “He was undercover for you, Father Walter. He got the vaccine back and made another one. You’ve told everyone the truth! What is it going to take to convince people Mario isn’t the bad guy here?”

  Silence filled the room, oppressive and hard.

  Doug said, “It’s not fair, Emily, but people want justice.”

  “They want vengeance,” she countered.

  “Yeah, that too,” Doug conceded.

  Walter said, “That’s what the tribunal is for. So that it’s justice, not a lynching.”

  “Can we please just stop talking about this?” Mario said. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving my kids again.”

  “You’re the one who wanted to talk about it now in the first place,” Miranda said, both incredulous and annoyed that he was being so stubborn. “But as soon as people don’t tell you what you want to hear, you don’t want to anymore?”

  Mario shot her a filthy look, the intensity of his anger so hot that Miranda almost flinched.

  “Even I think you should go,” said Karen, sounding dispirited. “I don’t want to lose you all again, but staying here? It’s just not an option.”

  Mario leaned back in his se
at and crossed his arms, the line of his mouth hard. Miranda knew that look, that stance. He was digging in.

  “Why don’t we all go?” Emily said. “What do you think? Me and the kids…we could all go.”

  “Really?” Miranda squeaked. It had never occurred to her to ask, but now that Emily had said it, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before.

  “I can’t ask you to do that,” Mario said.

  “You’re not asking me,” Emily said. “If leaving the kids is the problem, I’ll come, too. You and the kids are the only family I’ve got. If it’s safe in Portland, why not?”

  Mario’s head shook from side to side. “I’m not uprooting all of you because of something I did. It’s dangerous, even in a helicopter. I already lost—” He stopped, then continued, his voice tight. “I’m not losing anyone else. If I have to deal with the consequences of my part in all this, then so be it.”

  “So be it?” Miranda said, her temper flaring. She heard Father Walter say something, no doubt meant to defuse her anger, but she ignored him. “After all we’ve been through, after what you went through to get here, you’ll just march up to that gallows like it’s A Tale of Two Cities? What about the rest of us?”

  Mario took an impatient breath. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  They were on the verge of an argument—one that wouldn’t be pretty. She needed to reel herself in, not give in to her anger. She almost wanted to, because they finally had their chance. Emily had thrown them a lifeline. His stubbornness made absolutely no sense.

  There’s something else going on here, she thought, realizing that if she could take a step back and not lose her temper, he’d tell her. She knew he would. She put her hand on Mario’s arm. His muscles tensed under her fingers.

  “Let’s talk about this later,” she said more gently.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Doug’s mouth fall open in shock. Mario’s eyebrows knitted together. He looked at her like she was a bomb that might still explode, then nodded.

  The table was silent. Miranda took a sip of her wine. “You don’t want to come to LO anyway, Karen,” she said, trying to jump-start the conversation. “Nobody’s wearing heels there.”

  Karen said something sassy, and the others joined in. Doug looked at her like she’d been swapped out for a pod person, then burst out laughing when she scratched at her cheek with a raised middle finger. She had parent manners when she wanted to, and she saw no reason to scandalize Father Walter into his grave.

  After a few minutes, Mario slipped his hand into hers. Their eyes met, and she saw a cautious openness that had been absent just moments ago. She’d figure out what was going on, and then make him see sense. They hadn’t come this far to blow it now.

  She leaned against the wall in the dark hallway, looking into the bedroom. Soft light puddled around the side table between two twin beds. Violet and Anthony were crammed into one bed; Mario sat near their feet. Violet’s arms were stretched above her head, her fingertips walking up and down the headboard.

  “Violet’s really good with the kittens,” Anthony said. “They were still too small to take last week, but they might be ready now. We’re getting up early to go see.”

  “We’re bringing them home,” Violet said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “Maybe,” said Anthony.

  Violet nodded, as if Anthony’s caveat was a minor detail.

  “You two better get to sleep, then,” Mario said, ruffling each child’s hair with a hand. He hooked a thumb to the other bed. “One of you in there. There’s no room for you both unless someone falls on the floor.”

  Violet yawned, with so much effort she reminded Miranda of a baby. Anthony got into the other bed.

  “What about our story?” Violet said.

  “We spent all our time talking about kittens,” Mario answered.

  “Daddy can tell us stories tomorrow,” Anthony said through a yawn.

  Violet’s mouth twisted into a frown, then she said, “Okay. But let’s say the good night.”

  They did, all three of them, running through the lines of the Santorello bedtime fare-thee-well. Miranda smiled, listening to them, and wondering how many more years they’d want to do it. A lot, she hoped. Mario’s face was soft when he looked at the children, his love for them in every quirk of his lips or wrinkle of his nose. He turned off the light, then joined her in the hallway.

  They walked to the living room in silence. It wasn’t an easy silence, but it also wasn’t charged by an inevitable and looming argument.

  “Michael and Maureen stayed in the house?” Miranda asked him. She handed Mario a glass of wine, then got her own, before settling down next to him on the couch.

  “Michael didn’t want to be with the babies, and you saw Maureen. She was out before dessert.”

  “Where were Phineas, Sean, and Victor? They were invited, right?”

  “They were,” she assured him. “I don’t know what Sean and Victor decided to do, but Phineas met a girl at SCU, so…”

  They lapsed into silence again as Miranda leaned against him. Eventually, Mario said, “I’m sorry about before, at dinner. I didn’t mean to be so…”

  “It’s all right.” She turned her head and rested her chin on his shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  Another long silence. She sipped her wine some more. Now that they might talk about it, the suspense was killing her.

  “I— It’s just— The trip is so dangerous. One mechanical problem and we’re screwed, dropped right in the middle of it.” He sighed, frustration creasing his forehead and curling his mouth down in a frown. “It’s Anthony’s kittens, and the girl Michael likes, and you and Emily being forced to leave because of me.”

  “Nobody’s forcing me to do anything, and living here in Palo Alto wasn’t always the easiest time for Emily. Maybe she could do with a fresh start.”

  He sighed. “I just keep thinking there’s got to be a way to make it work. I know you want to be here. I want to be here.”

  There was something else. He wasn’t twisted into knots about the kids being uprooted. The family being together was what was most important to him, not where it happened.

  Then the penny dropped, and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t figured it out sooner.

  “This is about your brother, isn’t it?”

  Another long sigh, then a reluctant, “Yeah.”

  She turned fully sideways on the couch to better see him.

  “He wants to see me,” Mario said. “I got the message earlier today.”

  Careful to keep her tone neutral, she said, “What do you want to do?”

  “He’s my brother, Miri. I feel like I have to.”

  She shook her head. “This isn’t about obligation.”

  Mario looked away, but not before she saw the pain in his eyes. Goddamn you, Dominic, she thought. He’d drag Mario into his messes to the bitter end.

  Mario gave her a wry look. “I was going to kill him when I got here. So much for that plan.”

  “Michael Corleone you are not,” she said. “I’m glad you couldn’t do it.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  Mario looked at her like she knew the answer. He was desperate enough to do what she advised, if it meant taking responsibility for the decision off his shoulders. Miranda knew that Dominic was at the city jail. She wished that they were still using the county jail, and that he was there. Even though it was in zombie territory, it was outside the city walls. The idea of Mario going into San Jose, where there were people who wanted to haul him in front of the tribunal, made her sick, never mind him actually going to the jail itself.

  “I think it’s stupid and dangerous to go see him, but I can’t make this decision for you.”

  Mario closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, he said, “I have to go.”

  She’d known he would go as soon as he’d told her, becau
se she knew how they’d grown up. Mario had been his brother’s protector his entire life. For good or for ill, by visiting Dominic, he would play that role one last time.

  She set her wineglass down. Gently, with infinite care, she smoothed his hair back. She studied the contours of his face—the intense dark eyes and Roman nose, the strong, square chin and just right lips. She thought of Alec, of how good he’d been to her, and how much she’d liked being with him. Sitting here with Mario, her time with Alec seemed like a wisp of a half-forgotten dream. Everything she wanted was here, with this man. He’d seen her at her best and her absolute worst, and he was still here. He was cool where she was fiery, measured where she was rash, kinder to her than she sometimes was to him. He was always there, always true, as constant and faithful as the North Star. He wasn’t perfect by a long shot; neither was she. But together they were more than the sum of their parts. Together, they worked.

  “Then you should go tomorrow.”

  She leaned into him, breathing deep, the scent of his skin musky and sweet. His lips brushed hers, soft and warm, as heat between them blazed. When she lay below him moments later, shirt thrown on the floor, shivering at the touch of his lips on the swell of her breasts, the clink of his unbuckling belt tinkling against her ear, a vague part of her mind knew they should go to the bedroom because of the kids, but her body didn’t care.

  Tomorrow he would go see his brother, but right now, he was hers.

  35

  Walter’s anxious voice asked, “Are you set on this, Mario? I think this is a bad idea after what I heard this morning.”