Damage in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

“Thanks for the backup,” Doug said, glancing sidelong at Skye.

  The barest of smiles quirked the corners of Skye’s mouth as Smith began to speak.

  “Walking alone is dangerous, Doug. That’s not how we do things around here. The protocol here is…”

  When Doug emerged from Smith’s office half an hour later, he saw Skye lounging sideways across a love seat in the lobby, her long legs bent at the knee over its arm. When she saw him, she propped herself up on her elbows.

  “How was your chat with the commander?”

  “You are pure evil,” he answered. “I’m never coming here on my own again just so I can avoid that lecture.”

  Skye’s head fell back as her peal of laughter filled the lobby. She swung her legs off the couch and swiveled up to standing in a movement so smooth Doug realized he was gawking. He had never seen anyone move with such an easy, fluid grace.

  “What?” she said, looking at him. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

  “Do you, what? No,” he said. “Nothing in your teeth. I’ve just— never mind.”

  She’s one of the best rock climbers in the world; of course she’s coordinated… You need to quit talking, or you’re going to make a fool of yourself, he thought.

  Skye regarded him with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Well, okay. Let me make it up to you. I’ll give you a tour since you didn’t see anything last time.”

  “You mean when I was your prisoner?” he said. “I think a tour is the least you can do.”

  They exited the building. Once out from under the covered walkway with its concrete sidewalk, the path became earthen, covered with trampled down layers of leaves and pine needles. They entered the woods. A soft hush seemed to fill the space around them. The pines were straight and easily a hundred feet tall, like spears planted in the earth that wanted to fly into the sky. Oaks with branches gnarled and twisting were covered in moss and lichens. The plants on the densely tangled forest floor were low to the ground, in more lush shades of green than Doug ever knew existed. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the path Skye had chosen with golden pools of sunlight. Doug took it all in, feeling the glow of the colors and sounds and smells surrounding him.

  He said softly, “This is beautiful.”

  “Isn’t it?” Skye agreed. “We call it The Big Woods.”

  “Is it old growth?”

  “I doubt it, but it feels like it could be, you know?”

  Doug nodded in agreement. “Miranda told me about the woods, but she didn’t mention how dense they are. I had this idea that you had lots of little cabins among them, but that wouldn’t work at all.”

  Skye nodded. “A common misconception, so you’re totally average, Father.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her that his friends called him Doug, but she winked at him. Then he took a mental pause. This was maybe the second time he had ever seen Skye, let alone spent time with her. Was he already thinking of her as a friend?

  After a few minutes of walking, he said, “Where are we going?”

  “My favorite place in The Big Woods,” Skye said. “I like to show it to new people. I’ll show you the boring stuff after.”

  They passed a sign on the right that pointed out Tadpole Pond, but from the path it was impossible to investigate, and Skye did not stop. The terrain dipped low and grew marshy, but the built-up path was higher and stayed dry. Velvety brown cattails studded the wetted ground, standing proud on thin stalks adorned with tall, pointy green leaves. Soon the cattails grew so thick it was impossible to see through them. They rounded another curve in the path where the marsh edged into a pond.

  “This is it,” Skye said. She crouched down and motioned for Doug to do the same. “We might not see them. It’s the wrong time of day.”

  “Might not see what?” Doug asked. If he knew what he was looking for, it might increase the likelihood he would spot it.

  She shushed him. A few minutes later, she leaned in and whispered, “There, on the far side.”

  Doug looked to where she pointed. A long, dark critter, sleek and glistening, sliced through the water against the creek’s gentle current. Its dark-brown fur looked almost black, and its eyes seemed full of good-natured mischief. It dove before the cattails along the creek obstructed Doug’s view. A few moments later, several more swam after it, chirping to one another. On the far side of the cattails the group emerged, whiskers twitching, the smaller ones splashing noisily in a flurry of squeaks. They dove below the water’s surface, flashing the pointy tips of their long tails, before their dark heads popped up again.

  “River otters,” Doug said softly.

  Skye nodded, grinning, as two of the smaller otters began to wrestle, dunking one another in a quick succession of flips. A third little otter joined the dunkfest so that they resembled a splashing, tumbling ball of glistening fur. Then the first otter squeaked. The tumbling dunkers quit playing, heads turned attentively in the first otter’s direction. With another splash of their slender tails, every otter ducked beneath the surface, trailing bubbles as they raced away.

  “That was so cool,” Doug said as they stood up. “I’ve seen otters before but never this close. A group is called a raft, right? Since they hold paws when they’re sleeping?”

  “I’m not sure that river otters do that as much as sea otters. You can also call them a romp. I love how playful they are, so that’s what I call them.”

  “A romp of river otters,” Doug echoed, beginning to chuckle. “That’s perfect.”

  Skye said, “If I could choose an animal to be, I’d be an otter.”

  “I can see it,” Doug said. “A squeaky blond otter. I’d be a shark.”

  “Really?” She sounded dubious. “I don’t see you as a shark.”

  “Then what do you see me as?” he asked. “I’ll run it by Miranda and see if she agrees.”

  Skye stopped and looked him over from head to toe.

  “You’re tall and skinny, but you’re strong.” She narrowed her eyes while she thought, then said, “A praying mantis.”

  “A bug?” Doug said. “You think I’d be a bug?”

  “It’s a bad-ass bug.”

  “That the female eats after mating!”

  “I don’t think you’re gonna have that particular problem.”

  “Oh my God,” he groaned, his head falling back. “On second thought, I won’t run it by Miranda. And you’re not allowed to be friends with her. I don’t think I can take it.”

  An hour later, Skye had shown him all of LO. The Big Woods’ south side adjoined three housing developments—an apartment complex, a residential boys’ home, and a single-family homes and townhouses development. Once the park buildings had been secured, the small community kept expanding until it had all three housing complexes behind the main palisade. Now they were close to seven hundred people. He and Skye rounded the last corner of the single-family home/townhouse plan, which was pretty in a faux Craftsman, cookie-cutter sort of way.

  “That last house on the corner, by where the original entrance to the plan was, is the medical clinic,” Skye said. “We’ll stop in, and I’ll introduce you to Doctor… Fuck.”

  “Doctor Fuck?” Doug said. He had to turn around because Skye had stopped and was now behind him.

  She grimaced. “My ex is over there. He’s seen me.”

  The guy from the gate at P-Land, Brock, walked toward them. The ginormous farm boy looked better than last time, clean and lacking the fury he had emanated as he told the tale of his disastrous trip to San Jose, but still haggard. Like he had not slept well. A pang of sympathy welled up in Doug’s chest.

  He lost his sister. Of course he’s not sleeping well.

  “Hey, Skye,” Brock said, then pulled her in for a hug.

  Skye said hello with markedly less enthusiasm.

  “It’s good to see you,” Brock continued, breaking the embrace. “I haven’t been sleeping well since I got back. I can’t stop thinking about Jennie.”


  “Have you been to see the doctor?” Skye asked. The concern in her voice sounded genuine.

  “That P-Land quack?” he said, sounding annoyed. “I came here to see Doctor River. She gave me this tea to help me sleep. Wouldn’t give me any real drugs since she said insomnia is a normal reaction to grief.” He held up a small paper bag, rolling his eyes.

  “What kind of tea?” Doug asked.

  Brock looked over at Doug like he had only just noticed him. “Valerian Root.”

  “That’s actually a good sleep aid,” Doug said.

  Brock said to Skye. “Are you free? It helps being around people who love—loved Jennie—as much as I did.”

  “I can’t,” Skye said gently. “I’m in the middle of showing Doug around.”

  Brock glanced at Doug, a flash of hostility flitting over his face.

  “Oh,” he said, his voice chilly. “I didn’t realize you were showing Doug around.”

  “Doug’s a priest, Brock,” Skye said.

  “I don’t think some company is too much to ask, especially now,” Brock said sharply, his voice rising.

  “I’m busy, Brock,” Skye said, beginning to sound angry, too. “I can’t right now.”

  Doug watched the escalating exchange, not liking what he saw. Brock was clearly jealous, of him of all people, but Doug didn’t know either of them well enough to say anything without, he suspected, making it worse.

  “I just miss her,” Brock said angrily. “I guess you don’t.”

  “You know that’s not true,” Skye said, then softened her voice. “I’m just busy right now.”

  He’s using his dead sister to manipulate her, Doug realized, his opinion of Brock getting lower by the second.

  “Whatever,” Brock said dismissively. He directed another dirty look Doug’s way as he turned on his heel and stalked away.

  “Brock,” Skye called after him, placating. “Don’t be like that. I’ll come see you later.”

  Brock kept walking. Skye sighed, looking troubled.

  “He’s so unreasonable,” she muttered.

  “I know his sister just died, but he seems like a dick,” Doug said.

  Skye almost smiled but looked troubled. “Now I have to go see him, or he’ll make things difficult. Small communities, you know how it is.”

  Doug did know ‘how it is’ in small communities, but he did not like the way Brock had tried to intimidate with anger and when that did not work, use his grief to manipulate.

  “It’s none of my business,” he said slowly, which caused Skye to quit watching Brock’s retreating figure and look at him. “But is he why you moved to LO?”

  “You’re right,” she said evenly. “It’s none of your business.”

  He is the reason she moved, Doug thought. Skye started walking again. In two quick strides of his long legs, Doug caught up.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

  He didn’t want to just say he was sorry, though. He wanted to make sure she had some way to deal with her creep of an ex. After what he had just seen, Doug thought she might need it. He reached out for Skye’s wrist and pulled her toward him. She turned, looking both startled and angry, and tried to pull away.

  “That’s your first mistake,” Doug said, still holding on to her wrist. “You should step into me. Someone pulling on you won’t expect that, and then you can use your momentum to knock them off balance.”

  The annoyance leached from Skye’s blue eyes. He had her attention, so he continued with his unorthodox olive branch.

  “Like this,” he said. “Grab my wrist and pull.”

  She did as he instructed, her grip even stronger than he had expected. He turned into her, wrapping her arm around him as if they were dancing. When his shoulder reached her chest, he leaned in.

  “Hit their chest with your shoulder, but as hard as you can. And if you want to be really slick—”

  He nudged against her sternum just enough to almost unsteady her balance, then turned in a little more so that he almost faced her. His outside foot swung behind hers. He planted it solidly on the ground, then he pushed on her exposed left shoulder with his free hand. Not as hard as if he were really trying to fend someone off but enough to trip her. When she realized she was falling backward, Skye released his other wrist. He darted low, sliding his right arm around her to catch her waist like a dancer dipping his partner.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, grinning, his face inches from hers. “I’ve got you.”

  Her eyes had gone wide with shock. She narrowed them and smacked his shoulder.

  “You jerk!”

  He could feel her ribs shake against his arm as she laughed. Her breath tickled his ear. She smelled like mown grass and honey, and her eyes were so blue that the sky above them looked drab. A flush of heat raced through Doug’s body as he pulled her up to standing. As her smile faded, he realized her lips were the velvety pink of rosebuds.

  My God, she’s beautiful.

  He held her a moment too long, his heart pounding, then let go as if she were a hot coal.

  “Your…uh… You let go. Of me—my hand. I mean, my wrist,” he said, stumbling over the words as he tried to regain his equilibrium. “To break your fall.”

  She nodded, her mouth forming a tiny ‘O.’

  “Yeah,” she said, sounding breathless.

  “When you thought you were falling, you let go. To break your fall.”

  “Right.” She nodded. “You already said that.”

  Oh my God, shut your mouth, he thought.

  “Right,” he answered, his mouth-words not getting the memo from his mind-brain. He could feel a hot blush creeping over his face. “Right, of course, you— I did.”

  Doug looked away. The rush of attraction was as surprising as it was unexpected. He could not remember feeling this nonplussed—ever.

  “Doug,” Skye said.

  He looked up, not wanting to make things any weirder by not looking at her when she spoke to him.

  “That was nice of you. And useful. But if you grab me again, I will knock you on your ass.”

  “Fair enough,” he said softly.

  He tried but could not tear his eyes away from her. Something—surprise, maybe?—flashed in hers.

  “Let’s go see River. She’s the doctor here.”

  She turned without waiting for his reply. A few seconds later, Doug followed.

  12

  Mario looked up from his notes. Outside, the macaques’ screeching indicated something out of the ordinary. They were better than any alarm system humans had ever devised.

  Mario pushed the notes aside and walked to the rear entrance that faced the old parking lot. A Jeep, the old kind like you saw in World War II movies, tooled into view. Doug, Skye, and two people Mario didn’t know were inside. Mario pulled on his jacket and walked out to meet them.

  The watery winter sunshine did not do much to counter the cold and damp, but the weather was milder than the day before. Still, it had to have been a chilly ride. The Jeep squeaked to a halt, Skye behind the wheel, Doug in the passenger seat with cheeks rosy from the cold.

  “Hi, Skye,” Mario said, approaching the Jeep.

  “Hey, James,” she answered. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s going,” he answered, almost turning around to see who Skye was talking to. He was still not used to the people here calling him James. “On the right side of the grass, so it’s a good day.” He looked over at Doug as he hopped out of the Jeep. “See you got a ride.”

  “Smith read me the riot act for walking over there by myself, so I said yes to a lift.”

  “James, let me introduce you,” Skye said to Mario as she stepped out of the Jeep. “Phineas, this is James.”

  Phineas, a fresh-faced kid in his early twenties with kinky, close-cropped hair, stood up and reached over the roll bar to shake Mario’s hand. Freckles spattered the bridge of his nose, darker speckles against his dark skin. He was one of the first African Americans Mario had see
n since they arrived in the Northwest, which sometimes felt like the Great Northern Whitewash. Phineas was medium height with broad shoulders but a wiry build.

  “Hey, man,” he said, his quick smile flashing white, even teeth.

  “Mathilde,” the woman sitting next to Phineas said as she extended her hand. The slight purr of what most people might think was a French accent softened the consonants of her speech, but Mario didn’t think she was French. She looked about thirty, with dark hair and eyes. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, James.”

  “Enchanté,” Mario said, deciding to take his best guess. “Swiss?”

  Mathilde smiled. “Très bien! Most people cannot tell the difference and assume I am from France.”

  “Coup de chance,” Mario said. At Phineas’ raised eyebrows, he added, “Lucky guess.”

  Mathilde shook her head. “La fausse modestie ne vous convient pas, James.”

  Mario laughed. “Je ne contredis jamais une femme charmante.”

  “We better hit it,” Skye said, climbing back into the driver’s seat. Phineas swung under the roll bar to take the passenger seat.

  “What’s the rush?” Doug said. “At least let us give you some tea or something. I’m freezing after riding in a Jeep in January, even if it is wimpy West Coast January. You must be, too.” His voice became sing-songy as he said, “We have power now, so it’s mosty-toasty.”

  After a moment’s conferral, the trio agreed.

  “Besides,” Phineas said, “I gotta take a dump.”

  “Phineas!” Mathilde scolded.

  “Overshare much?” Skye said.

  “Sorry,” the young man said, but he did not look it.

  Mario pointed him in the direction of the latrine, then followed everyone else inside.

  “We’re set up near the reception desk,” Doug said, leading the way.

  Mario filled and flicked the switch on the electric kettle while the others claimed seats. “Using appliances never gets old,” he said. “Electricity is the best.”

  “What’s this?” Miranda called down from the mezzanine balcony across from reception.