Damage in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  “Yeah. I’m fine. What a fucking day. And who left that door unlocked?”

  They left the radio room and walked down the balcony hallway. Voices echoed up from the lobby. At the top of the stairs, Mario stopped.

  “Hey, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  He looked tired after the long hours in the lab, but his face lit up when he smiled at her. His dark-brown eyes held so much warmth they glowed. She found herself wondering whose eyes this not-to-be baby would have had. His square chin or her pointy one? His dark coloring or her pale Northern Italian redhead? His deep intensity of purpose? Her temper? Not that she would wish her temper on anyone.

  I hate this world, she thought, despair threatening to suck her below its murky surface. She hated its stark choices and unrelenting demands. Its hair’s breadth margin for error and its raw brutality. She hated it for what it was, but even more for what it prevented. For the dreams it killed.

  “You’ll be back tomorrow at the latest,” she said. “It can keep another day.”

  “Are you sure?”

  As if on cue, Rocco shouted from below. “Yo, James! We’re heading out in ten!”

  “I’m sure,” she said. “Though I have to stop myself from looking around to see who this James guy is. I hear he’s quite a dish.”

  Mario’s smile softened, and her heart unexpectedly opened wide to all of the beauty the world still offered, despite all the suffering. A swell of protectiveness for the unwanted creature growing inside her caught her by surprise, and suddenly another twelve hours seemed too soon. She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to make it more real. Didn’t want to let this world snatch one more thing away from her, even though she knew in her bones that having an abortion was the right—the only—thing she could do.

  Mario’s lips found hers, the kiss slow and unhurried, yet one that left her breathless. He pulled her into his arms.

  “I love you, Miranda. Please don’t run off with James. He’s not all that.”

  The burble of laughter his teasing prompted helped her fend off more tears.

  “I’ll try and keep my hands off him for now,” she said. “But I’m not making any promises.”

  Miranda yawned so wide she thought her jaw would dislocate. She checked her watch: half past midnight. Time was she could pull a watch shift until five in the morning no problem. But that time was before her body had been hijacked by a biological process that held her in its thrall like an energy vampire’s familiar.

  A reflection in the glass of the main door caught her eye. She turned around to see Doug entering the lobby from the hallway below the main staircase. His shoulders drooped, and he limped, favoring his left knee. Even from thirty feet, she could see the split, swollen knuckles of his right hand. The black eye that had been bad a few hours ago was positively spectacular now, running from above his left eyebrow almost to his jaw. When he saw her, he started to offer a wan smile but winced and stopped.

  “You literally look like something the cat dragged in,” she said when he reached her.

  “I feel like it, too.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  He sighed, and his face grew pensive. “I don’t know… She had a good cry, which seemed to help a bit. Delilah stopped by, which definitely raised her spirits. She’s still there, snuggled up with Skye. We both fell asleep, but I woke up ’cause I needed to take a leak. She’s so,” he stopped, seeming unable to find the right words.

  Miranda nodded, unsure of the right thing to say.

  “She’s so beat up,” he said, practically spitting, each word filled with more anger than the last. “The bruises on her neck have gotten so much worse. When I think of what that asshole—”

  Eyes flashing, Doug stopped speaking abruptly. He exhaled loudly, relaxed his hands that had balled into fists, and took another deep breath.

  “That’s why I came out,” he continued more evenly. “To get more ibuprofen. I thought there was some in her room, but I couldn’t find it. I don’t want to wake her up unless I have it to give to her.”

  Miranda nodded. “How are you?”

  The pain that filled Doug’s face set the waterworks off. Miranda wiped the tears away quickly. Doug smiled the tiniest bit, despite the pain she could see it caused him, and tousled her short hair.

  “Throw in a volcano’s worth of anger, and that’s exactly how I feel,” he said.

  Outside, the macaques began to shriek.

  “What are they squawking about?” Doug said, cupping his hands on the glass door to see outside.

  Miranda nudged Doug out of the way and pulled the door open. She stepped outside, her hand on the hilt of her machete. Doug followed. The volume of the combined troops of macaques grew more agitated.

  “Something’s got them riled up,” she said.

  Behind them, the door opened. Miranda turned to see Rich standing in the doorway.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, yawning as he pulled his jacket on.

  “Don’t know yet,” Miranda said. “Doug and I will check it out.”

  “Give me a few minutes to get someone else on these doors, and I’ll join you,” Rich said, heading back inside.

  Doug looked at Miranda like he was trying to decide if she had lost her mind and glanced down at her stomach. “Are you sure? With your, you know.”

  “For Pete’s fucking sake, Doug,” she said. “If there were zombies coming right at us, you’d never say that. Come on.”

  “Rich wants us to wait for him.”

  Miranda ignored him and pulled her machete. After a few feet, Doug fell in step beside her.

  “They’re louder that way,” she said, halfway between the main entrance and the parking lot, uneasiness creeping through her as she pointed to the brig lab, where Jeremiah was held.

  They changed direction, Doug flanking the corner of brig lab on the left while Miranda walked farther out on his right. She pulled ahead, now able to get a clear sight line around the building’s corner from her slightly better vantage point. In the bright moonlight, nothing looked amiss, except she couldn’t see the person on watch.

  Who’s on the door, she thought, unable to recall the watch schedule.

  “It’s Miranda and Doug,” she called, still not able to see anyone. She doubted he could hear her over the shrieking macaques. It was weird that he had not stepped forward to investigate the racket himself.

  She walked faster, closing the distance between herself and Doug, who had also turned the building’s corner. The macaques’ shrill shrieks echoed off the nearby buildings. Underneath the noise of the monkeys, hers and Doug’s deliberate footsteps squelched on the waterlogged ground. Five feet from the door, as he crept along in the shadow of the building cast by the moon, Doug tripped and fell.

  “Fuck,” Doug said.

  Closer now, Miranda could see a body tangled in Doug’s feet. He extracted himself and reached for the guard’s neck, looking for a pulse. Miranda heard him swear again. Doug straightened, wiping his hand on his shirt.

  “It’s Axel. His throat’s cut.”

  Adrenaline flooded Miranda’s bloodstream—a human adversary was loose on the Institute grounds. Axel was big and strong and sharp. Or had been, she amended to herself, looking at his body. She held up a hand to indicate that Doug should wait, then swapped her machete for her handgun. Doug did the same. If they were going to knife fight, they might as well be overprepared.

  Doug peeked through the inset window in the building’s door, then tried the handle. He stepped back into the shadow of the building and crouched beside Axel’s body. Miranda heard a soft jangling of keys.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This door is open, but the other isn’t.” He stood up, keys in hand. “Wait here, count to thirty. I’ll go around to the entrance on the other side. Either I’ll click my flashlight, and we’ll enter together, or you go in when you hit the count.”

  “Okay,” Miranda said, nodding. “Be careful.”

&n
bsp; Doug slipped away. Miranda stepped to the door so that she could see through the window and began to count. The main corridor stretched from one end of the building to the other, so seeing Doug’s signal would not be a problem. The noise from the macaques faded to the occasional chitter as they settled down again to concern themselves with sleeping. At twenty-six, she saw a pinpoint red flash, three times, at the far end of the building’s main corridor. Miranda pulled the door open and stepped inside. She saw the flicker of movement as Doug did the same.

  She hugged the wall, her pace quick and steady, stopping only to check the doors along the way. So far all of them had been locked, as they should be.

  The lab where Jeremiah’s cell had been installed had a door at either end of the long room. The lab was situated mostly on the side of the building by Miranda, so she reached the door she would use to enter the lab before Doug would reach his. Whatever was going on, it had to be Jeremiah. He was the only thing in this building worth killing for.

  Between the two doors into the lab the lower half of the wall was solid, the upper windows. Doug’s end of the room was dark. A low light was on at this end of the room, which on its face was not cause for alarm. The guard needed a light.

  Miranda slowed as she approached the door. Jeremiah’s cell was in the section of the lab before this door. She ducked past the door to the edge of the first window, crouching as she turned around to peer inside.

  “Goddammit,” she whispered.

  The door to Jeremiah’s darkened cell stood ajar. She could see the silhouette of a woman standing beside the table and chairs used by the guards. The area was half lit since only one of the overhead fluorescent lights was turned on, but not at full brightness. A machete and two guns, a handgun and a rifle, lay on the table.

  The woman stepped into the light, holding a coat. Her curly, dark hair was tucked behind her ears.

  Courtney.

  Then a figure near the open cell straightened up.

  Jeremiah.

  Even unable to see him clearly where he stood in the gloom, the upright posture, the relaxed authority that radiated from the man still in the shadows… It could not be anyone else. He stepped into the light. The sharp cheekbones in the thin face, the rapacious gleam of his golden eyes.

  “Motherfucker,” Miranda whispered.

  Jeremiah took the jacket from Courtney’s outstretched hand. He stepped in, stroking her cheek with his other hand. He whispered in her ear, then kissed her. When he broke the kiss, the young woman’s face was alight, adoring.

  A sudden need to throw up made Miranda’s stomach heave. Her flesh began to crawl. Son of a motherfucking asshole, she thought. She stood up, yanked the door open, and raised her gun.

  Jeremiah and Courtney jumped.

  “Don’t even try it, Courtney,” Miranda said as Courtney reached for her gun. “I will blow your fucking head off if your hand moves another inch.”

  Courtney froze. The door at the other end of the room opened. Jeremiah and Courtney both looked to see who had entered. Miranda kept her eyes on Jeremiah and his no doubt masterfully manipulated accomplice.

  “Huh,” Doug said, walking past the lab tables toward them. He had crossed to the far side of the room to box them in between himself and Miranda. “Step away from her, Jeremiah. Now.”

  Jeremiah looked at Miranda, a crafty smile playing across his mouth. “Did you truly believe you could thwart the Will of the God All-Father on Earth, Sister Miranda?” he crooned.

  “You are not the hypnotic Jungle Book snake, and I am not your sister,” Miranda growled. “Step away from her right now, or Doug might shoot you. He’s had a really shitty day.”

  Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed. “You will not shoot Us. You need Us.”

  Miranda jumped at the boom from Doug’s Glock. A spray of concrete chips exploded from the wall in the cell behind Jeremiah and Courtney.

  “We can store your blood properly now, Jeremiah. Move the fuck away from her, into your cell.”

  Jeremiah backed up. From the corridor, Miranda heard voices. The calvary had arrived.

  Miranda glanced quickly at Doug, shocked that he had fired at them, even if his intent had been only to scare. It was the kind of thing she might have done, but not Doug, even if he threatened to.

  “Dude, chill the fuck out.”

  “Was Brock part of this?” Doug asked. “Or just a useful diversion?”

  “The God All-Father told me that I would receive a sign, that I would know it when it manifested,” Courtney answered.

  “Christ,” Miranda muttered. Of course. “You silly girl… Jeremiah’s big into the hocus pocus part of being a delusional zealot.”

  Miranda walked over to Courtney. She tucked the handgun on the table into her coat pocket. She couldn’t hold the rifle securely and check for weapons, and she did not trust Doug with it right now. Instead, she shoved the table away a few feet, then relieved the young woman of her handgun, machete, and knife. She frisked Courtney’s upper body, then moved to her legs. She had just reached Courtney’s knees when the door behind her opened.

  And then she was on her ass. Courtney lunged for the rifle, still on the table, knocking Miranda over in the process. She grabbed Courtney’s leg with her right hand and yanked. Instead of pulling the young woman down, she got a wobble. Miranda grabbed again with both hands, and Courtney toppled. Pain blossomed across Miranda’s face when Courtney’s boot kicked back as she fell, connecting with her cheek. Miranda heard Doug shouting for the new arrivals to cover the door, and for someone to get outside and cover the windows.

  She had to get Courtney under control so she could help catch Jeremiah. He had darted out of his cell, crouching low behind the lab tables near the windows. Miranda vaulted herself up to lay on top of Courtney. The young woman thrashed below her, screaming.

  The room plunged into darkness.

  “Keep the doors covered,” Doug shouted.

  What the fuck, Miranda thought. Had Jeremiah recruited more people than just Courtney?

  She got her knee in the center of Courtney’s back and cranked an arm back. Courtney screeched in pain.

  “Help me All-Father,” she cried, shrieking like a banshee.

  All around them, the noise seemed to amplify. Miranda dragged Courtney up.

  “I’ve got Courtney,” she said.

  The lights came back on—all of the lights. Miranda blinked, momentarily blinded.

  “Miranda, watch out!”

  Jeremiah leaped for her. Under cover of the dark, he had crept over, almost beside her.

  Miranda shoved Courtney at him, but he sidestepped. Kept coming.

  “Hold your fire,” someone shouted.

  Jeremiah collided with Miranda, knocking her back. Then her neck was constricted by his arm wrapped around it. People rushed toward them. She stomped on Jeremiah’s foot and heard him cry out. When his grip loosened, she twisted to face him. She shoved the heel of her hand, thumb down, against his face. It slipped into his mouth.

  “Fuck!” Miranda shrieked.

  Jeremiah’s teeth chomped into the flesh of her hand. She let go of him and jerked her hand away, stumbling backward. The melee of hand and arms—reaching for her, for Jeremiah—seemed to come from all sides. Courtney rushed into the empty space Miranda’s retreat created.

  “No! Let him go,” Courtney cried, reaching for Jeremiah.

  Jeremiah thrashed like a cornered bear. Courtney tried to cradle his face between her hands, but in his frenzy, he did not seem to recognize her. He bit her hand, too. She screamed and was pulled away. Then Doug arrived, his Glock a blur that connected with Jeremiah’s head, and the commotion stopped.

  The guards dragged Jeremiah into his cell. Rich had arrived from the main building.

  “What the hell?” he said, taking in the melee’s aftermath. Then he started barking orders.

  Miranda held her bleeding hand in the other. “Now he’s a freaking cannibal?”

  Doug held out a bandana to her.
She took it gratefully, wrapping it around her hand.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Doug said. “You okay, Miri?”

  Miranda nodded. “I’m fine.”

  26

  “I can’t believe the asshole bit me.”

  The lobby of the main Institute building bustled with activity while Miranda sat, arm outstretched. Alicia had already washed the cuts on the outer edge of her hand twice. Now she swabbed them with iodine. Miranda flinched when the oversized Q-tip touched one of the deeper cuts.

  “Sorry,” Alicia said. “At least he didn’t get your pinky like Courtney and break your finger.”

  “A broken finger isn’t punishment enough for that bitch.”

  All told, it could have been worse. No one else had been killed. Fucking Jeremiah, she thought. She realized her other hand rested just below her belly button and snatched it away.

  Alicia set down the iodine and wound bandages around Miranda’s hand.

  “Unless River says otherwise, change the bandages twice a day and keep it clean and dry. We’ll get you some antibiotics. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

  “Do I need to worry about tetanus or anything like that?”

  Alicia shrugged. “I don’t think so, but you should ask River. I need to patch up Courtney.”

  Miranda snorted. Patch up Courtney, my ass. She checked her watch—three in the morning. Because of her injury, everyone had insisted she skip the rest of her watch and go to bed. Now that the adrenaline rush had subsided, she was so tired that she had not argued. All she had to do now was stand up. She wasn’t sure she had the energy.

  “You okay, Miranda?”

  Skye sat down in the chair opposite her. A flash of pain flitted across Skye’s ethereally beautiful, but now badly battered, face.

  “Better than you, I’m afraid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a black eye that bad.”

  Skye had looked bad when Miranda last saw her an hour after the attack, but now… Doug had not been exaggerating about how much worse the bruises and swelling had gotten since then.

  “You taking pain meds?” she asked.