Damage in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

“Come join the party,” Mario said to her, noticing she looked less pale than earlier. “You feeling better?”

  Delilah scurried down the stairs, nails clicking on the terrazzo floor, and made a beeline for Skye.

  Miranda joined them, and Mathilde was introduced.

  “Not sick, I hope,” Skye said to Miranda.

  Miranda shook her head as she settled in next to Mario. “Nah, just wiped out so I took a nap. I’m glad you stopped to visit. I get tired of these two.”

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but familiarity breeds contempt, or so they say,” Mathilde said.

  Miranda leaned against Mario, the weight of her body against his better than a warm blanket.

  “You sure you’re not coming down with something?” he asked, sidebar from the group conversation. He put the back of his hand against her cheek, but she didn’t feel feverish.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just needed some rest. I wrote in my journal, too.”

  While Skye was telling them about the otters she and Doug had seen, Mario realized Phineas had not returned from the latrine yet. He checked his watch. It had been almost twenty minutes, and it wasn’t like they had magazines there. He pulled his hand out of Miranda’s and stood up.

  “I’m going to go check on Phineas. It’s been a while,” he said.

  Miranda straightened up. “I checked the perimeter earlier. It was okay.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mario said, not wanting to alarm anyone. “Probably got waylaid by macaques.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” Skye said slowly.

  Phineas’ voice floated down from the mezzanine. “Rocco was right, Skye.”

  Mario’s head snapped up. Phineas stood at the mezzanine rail, looking down at them. Jeremiah stood beside him.

  “Our deliverance is at hand.”

  Jeremiah’s deliverance proved short-lived after Mario, Miranda, and Doug’s vociferous protests were followed with calmer, if circumspect, explanations. He was once again safely locked up at the Institute.

  Miranda stayed behind with Phineas and Mathilde, while Mario and Doug went to LO. Mario looked around the lobby of the Nature Center. It really was as beautiful as Doug had said. He just wished his first visit, not to mention his first introduction to LO’s commander, was for any reason other than the secret of Jeremiah being exposed.

  Doug sat on the chair next to him, mostly scowling at Skye in a very un-Doug-like display of pique. Skye leaned against the reception desk, her face mostly impassive but also, Mario thought, a bit amused by Doug’s demeanor.

  “I still can’t believe you distracted us so he could sneak around and spy on us,” Doug said. “Even pretending like you weren’t going to stay.”

  Skye shrugged. “You’d have done the same in our shoes.”

  “That’s beside the point…” Doug muttered, then lapsed into silence.

  A few minutes later, a short, trim woman, brown hair shot through with gray and authority radiating from her like the sun, walked through the entrance.

  “So,” Anna Smith said a few minutes later. She sat on the corner of the desk in her office, having shoved a stack of papers out of her way first. Mario wondered if she had opted for sitting on rather than behind her desk to make their conversation less confrontational. “It seems we have a little bit of a situation here.”

  “It’s none of your business,” Doug said.

  Smith shot an exasperated look at Skye, who stood just inside the closed door. Skye shook her head as if to say, I can’t help you this time.

  “Holding someone prisoner against their will on my patch without a damn good reason is definitely my business,” Smith said. “Get your side of the story in before I get his.”

  “He’s crazy,” Mario said. “Delusional.”

  “Unless he’s dangerous, that’s not a reason to hold him prisoner,” Smith countered.

  Doug’s bark of laughter was loud enough that Mario jumped in his seat.

  “He’s completely dangerous,” Doug said. “He’s the most dangerous whack job I’ve ever met, and I’ve met some doozies.”

  “So?” Smith said.

  “He’s a rapist and a murderer, for starters,” Doug said, ticking off Jeremiah’s crimes on his fingers. “He thinks he’s God’s messenger, has some very fucked-up theology, and refers to himself in the third person. That alone is enough to lock anyone up.”

  Smith looked at Doug evenly. “Then maybe we should just shoot him and be done with it.”

  “No,” Mario said quickly. He had not meant to let her see the panic that her suggestion sent through him, but he failed spectacularly. “I need him for my research.”

  “Ah…he’s immune to the zombie virus,” Smith said, somewhere between a question and a statement. “I can’t think of another reason for you to go tromping to the ends of the Earth with him in tow to find research facilities with a BSL-3 lab.”

  Doug threw his hands up in the air.

  “Yes,” he said irritably. “He’s immune. And he doesn’t see any reason to get rid of zombies because his little cult where he terrorized the people he held hostage suited him just fine. That’s why he’s a prisoner. Good enough for you?”

  “Almost,” Smith said. “But it doesn’t explain why you’re working with Mario Santorello.”

  The sensation of the floor falling out from under him was so strong that Mario did not understand why he was still sitting upright in his chair. From Doug’s stunned expression, he had not seen this one coming either, but the set of his jaw quickly became defiant.

  Mario realized he better speak before Doug’s uncharacteristic belligerence made things worse. He took a deep breath.

  “How long have you known?”

  “Rocco recognized you.”

  Mario nodded. “As long as we’re fessing up, he also repels zombies, which we’ve never seen before.”

  “Oh, come on,” Doug said. “You’re killing me here! Why don’t you tell them all our secrets?”

  “Better now than later,” Mario said to him. He looked back to Smith. “The truth about me is a little more complicated than everyone has been led to believe.”

  An hour and two rounds of bourbon later, which was exceedingly generous of Smith, Mario thought, the LO commander looked at him and Doug thoughtfully.

  “That’s quite a story,” she finally said. “I understand why you’re cranky, Doug, but I have to admit, I am not sure what to make of you, Mario.” She looked over at Skye. “What do think? Does it play?”

  Skye swished the last of the bourbon in her glass before polishing it off. She set her glass down.

  “It plays,” she said. “Maybe ‘James’ here,” she said, “isn’t as altruistic as he’s making himself out to be, but it makes more sense than a vaccine developer throwing in with the bad guys. People who make vaccines want to protect people from disease. It’s usually not about the money.”

  “I think you’ve got a pretty good sense of Miranda by now. She would not be with a creep,” Doug said. “What Mario did wasn’t easy. He’s more altruistic than he’s letting on.”

  Smith said, “Or he’s at least trying to make amends.”

  She’s got that right, Mario thought. He had been a victim of circumstance as much as anyone else, but he still felt like he had to make amends for what he had done to Miranda, his wife and kids, and all the innocent people caught up in the power struggle between the Council’s greed and the Jesuits’ ministry. People whose names he would never know.

  “Okay,” Smith said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to keep doing your work, but we need to beef up security over there.”

  “How about setting up a mini-sound defense perimeter around the Institute?” Skye said to Smith. “I know Station Ten and Eleven aren’t far north of it, and Nine is southwest, but Larry has the equipment.”

  “It’s overkill,” Smith said, a faraway gaze in her eyes as she considered the suggesti
on. “But it’s a vaccine to protect against the zombie virus, so better safe than sorry. Good idea, Skye.”

  Smith continued. “We need a more humane lockup for the prisoner. I hear it’s basically a closet.”

  Doug shrugged, looking discomfited. “It was just the three of us, and he’s really devious.”

  Smith waved his protest away. “I’m not criticizing. Skye will pull together a detail, and they’ll be at the Institute tomorrow. It’s too late to send them over now,” she said, glancing out the window at the rapidly fading light. “You’ll have to stay the night, too. Don’t worry,” she added when Mario started to object. “We’ll get in touch with Miranda. Phineas has a radio.”

  “Let’s hold up a minute,” Mario said.

  The conversation was going well, perhaps too well. If there was any possibility that things might go pear-shaped, he would prefer to know now, or at least get a read on Smith’s reaction.

  “The whole point of what we did was to change how things went in San Jose. To break the monopoly. The vaccine must be free to everyone, no matter what. That is non-negotiable. If you don’t agree, then this conversation is over. Lock me up if you want, but I will not do any more work unless I’m convinced you understand that.”

  Smith’s look of surprise was all the assurance that Mario needed.

  “I thought that was what we were talking about,” she said. “But you’re right. It never hurts to be clear. The vaccine is free, and everyone gets it, no exceptions.”

  Mario’s body relaxed. This entire episode was nerve-racking, but he had not realized just how much until now.

  “I don’t want nonessential personnel at the Institute,” Smith continued. “It’s probably overcautious, but there will be more back and forth between here and there now. Might as well keep as low a profile as possible, given those parameters. Anyone nonessential to the research or security should come stay here.”

  “Miranda’s not gonna like that,” Doug said. “She’ll want to be on the security detail.”

  “I don’t like it,” Mario protested.

  Smith was silent for a moment, then said, “Well, I’ll talk to her. We should keep calling you James Gideon,” she said to Mario, then said to Skye, “We need to flash his picture around to see who might recognize him. Maybe we’ll luck out there.”

  “I could use a research partner,” Mario said. “Or an assistant, if there’s anyone here who knows what they’re doing. Experience with primate research would be a plus.”

  “What’s that girl’s name, Skye?” Smith asked. “You know, with the long hair and the brutal laugh? Isn’t she a biochemist or a virologist?”

  “Alicia?” Skye said. “I think she’s one of the two, but I’m not sure. She was all but dissertation on her Ph.D.”

  “That would be perfect,” Mario said, a thrill of excitement making his brain buzz. A good lab partner would make all the difference. “If she’s either of those things, she probably knows who I am.”

  “All the more reason to pull her in,” said Doug.

  They sat quietly for a moment, then Smith said to Mario, “How good are your chances of doing it again?”

  Mario shrugged. “I should be able to with enough time. The biggest difficulty I see is his repellant ability. The person we developed the first vaccine from couldn’t do that. It might be a different strain or just a mutation of the same strain. Until I’ve done more work, I just won’t know.”

  Smith picked up the bourbon and splashed some more into everyone’s glasses. She raised hers up. “To the successful repetition of reproducible results. That’s what good science is, after all.”

  They clinked their glasses, grinning at one another, and a lightness filled Mario’s chest. Even though they had failed to keep their mission secret, Mario felt more encouraged than he had in a long time. Skye had believed them, believed him. Smith knew who he was and was still willing to help, even if she had a healthy dose of skepticism about some of the details. His infamy stemming from the official story was so firmly entrenched that Mario had never expected that anyone would ever give him the benefit of the doubt.

  He sipped his bourbon, its smooth but fiery bite flooding his mouth.

  It felt good to have allies again.

  13

  Miranda felt Mario’s head fall onto the pillow by hers as he lay beside her. She felt breathless, her body tingling and heart still hammering. She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. His dark features were flushed, a satiated haze she was well acquainted with enveloping him.

  “How did you get so good at this?” she said.

  He pulled her to him, skin warm against hers as he kissed her forehead, and said, “Practice. And natural talent.” She nudged him with her elbow when he boasted. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “LO isn’t far.”

  “I’ll still miss you.”

  Miranda smiled. “I’ll miss you, too, but admit it. You’re looking forward to having me out of your hair so you can concentrate on your work.”

  He ran his fingers along her body until his hand rested on her hip. “I wouldn’t go that far. It will be easier to concentrate without the distractions you create.”

  “You love when I distract you,” she said, grinning, then sat up. She stretched her arms over her head and ran her fingers through her short hair.

  “I am looking forward to doing something useful,” she said. “Refusing to go there when Smith first suggested it was dumb.”

  Mario laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I can’t believe you lasted a week.”

  “Yeah, well, the last three days were not wanting to admit I made a mistake.”

  “Oh, believe me, I know.”

  Miranda stood and threw Mario’s pants at him, scoring a direct hit to his face. “Brat.”

  He tugged the pants away. “Do you promise to get more rest? You’ve been dragging since we got here.”

  Miranda pulled on her shirt. “Less rest, not more, and exercise is what I need. All I’ve been doing here is loafing and napping. It’s indecent. I usually never nap.”

  She tucked in her shirt and started searching for her boots. After so much time apart, she hated not being together even if she was putting a good face on it.

  “Get this vaccine done quick, okay?” she said.

  Mario smiled at her. “I’ll work as fast as I can.”

  An hour later, Miranda checked on Jeremiah one last time before departing. She was not entirely comfortable with the new brig arrangements even though she had to admit they were secure. More people from LO onsite to assist allowed for more fail-safes and consistency. Given what they were trying to achieve, they needed every advantage they could get.

  They had a welder at LO, so Commander Smith had ordered improvements using retro-fitted iron bars from some of the abandoned primate enclosures. The new brig was in the old animal hospital on the grounds nearest to the main Institute building. There was no reason for Jeremiah to be in the main building now. As Smith had pointed out, if Jeremiah was kept there and escaped, he might set fire to the building or sabotage equipment. Losing the BSL-3 was an outcome they could ill afford, especially considering that it had taken so much work to get it operational.

  Macaque monkeys squawked and chittered at Miranda as she walked the path, her shoulders hunched against the damp, chilled air. You’re adaptable little buggers, she thought as they scurried about. How the desirability of roosts was determined was beyond her, but as she became familiar with the monkeys, she had started to figure out which were higher status and which were lower. The lower-status monkeys rarely enjoyed the prime locations for long before they were bullied out of the way by more dominant members of the troop.

  She smiled a greeting to Axel, the taciturn guard at the main door, as she entered the building. He looked about nineteen even though she knew he wasn’t. Inside the Brig Lab, as it had come to be called, sat a metal cage similar to the kind used in zoos before natural habitats became popular. It had been co
nstructed along the far wall of the low-slung, one-story building. The twelve-foot-square cage was close enough to the windows to allow for natural light, but not so close that Jeremiah could reach them, even if he had something in his hand. All of the furnishings were constructed of iron and welded to the frame: the tabletop and bench chair, the slab for the mattress, even the improvised sink and composting toilet. Nothing could be taken apart to be used as a tool or weapon. The only things he had access to were paperback books and the clothes on his back, not even shoes. If he somehow managed it, they were not going to make escape any easier. The dishes for his meals were used under direct supervision and immediately collected by the guards, who were there twenty-four hours a day.

  Miranda heard voices as she entered the brig.

  “So you had a village in the trees,” a female voice said skeptically. “And how did you manage that?”

  At the far end of the room, this shift’s guard, a twenty-something woman named Courtney, sat in a chair several feet from Jeremiah’s cell. Miranda could see her in profile as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Jeremiah sat on the floor inside his cell.

  “Hard work,” Jeremiah said in an uncharacteristic display of humility instead of his usual delusional narcissism. “Everyone worked together.”

  “Hi, Courtney,” Miranda said.

  Courtney looked away from Jeremiah’s cage. Her delicate features—dark-brown eyes, olive skin, impossibly high cheekbones and bow lips—did not quite match her sturdy frame. But still, she had an unusual beauty and an almost palpable intelligence. Over the past few weeks, Miranda had seen several of the male LO guards go out of their way to speak to or assist Courtney, but she did not seem to favor any one of them in particular.

  “Hi, Miranda,” Courtney said. She stood up and walked over, pushing her curly chin-length bob behind her ears. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing really,” Miranda said, looking past the young woman for a moment at Jeremiah. “Just heading out for your neck of the woods soon. Thought I’d stop by the zoo to see the animals before I go.”