Controlling the Dead (13 page)

The famished forgotten, his eyes shoot to me. A grin forms, “It’s a secret. For future reference, if you want to sneak around, a bright green jacket isn’t the way to do it.”

I glance down at the hoodie I looted in New Orleans. “I wasn’t trying to sneak around. I need to run an errand.”

“What do you need? I can see if—”

“I need to go to the library.”

Gunshots erupt, taking down the lingering zombies. Now I realize how antsy they were making me. We watch as Guido’s men drag the corpses into a pile to be set on fire. Rudy stands up straight and glances at me. “Let’s go before it starts to smell.”

*

“What are we looking for?” he asks, taking in the darkened library. The musty smell isn’t bad, but underneath, it’s books. The smell of them always triggers memories of my dad. I take out a small flashlight from my pack, but Rudy goes to the nearest window.

“Medical journals. Whatever we can find for about ten years before the outbreak,” I say.

He pulls on the heavy wooden blinds to raise them. Dust floats in the air right before the blinds come crashing down on top of him. “Damn!” Jumping out of the debris, he shoots me a disbelieving look. “What the hell for?” His hands swipe down his leather jacket and jeans to remove dust. His expression speaks volumes about all the things he’d rather do than sit around reading medical journals.

I suppress a grin. “I want to know what kind of doctor Finnegan is. I asked him, and he completely evaded the question. It might not tell us anything, but it could be important and tell us a lot.” Rudy freezes and peers at me thoughtfully, I continue, “I know it’s a long shot, but he could be mentioned.” I shrug, “I don’t have much else to do, might as well use my time wisely.”

“It’s a good idea.”

We gather a heap of them and sit side by side at the nearest table, trying not to be discouraged by all the journals available. Remembering things my dad mentioned after the outbreak, I start with any that mention the CDC with dates closest to the outbreak. Rudy starts going through indexes to find Finnegan. I read for a while, mainly about the CDC denying any viruses that would present any zombie-like symptoms after a stream of incidents involving cannibalism and aggression. There are also a lot of articles on a hepatitis A outbreak. Surprisingly, the CDC had a public health campaign using the threat of zombies to keep people prepared for a major disaster. So did Homeland Security.

Sliding the articles over, I show them to Rudy. “Lot of good that did, Darlin’. According to Mac, they were one of the first to get hit.”

“Exactly. If you’re going to start a revolution, you’ve got to take out all the important people. Which
now
leads me to believe this guy is smart enough not to get mentioned or make a big name for himself. Finnegan didn’t want any recognition.” I glance at our stack of journals in dismay, not believing I’m wasting my time trying to find out.

I read through indexes. No mention of a Finnegan in any latest volumes.

The light from the window starts to dim as the late afternoon approaches. “You having any luck? I think I’ve talked myself out of my starting logic,” I ask Rudy and catch him staring at me. “What?”

The chair squeaks as he shifts. “You seem a lot better and your voice isn’t as bad.”

“I feel a lot better.”

“You look it, too.” Reaching up, he fiddles with a few of my yarn-sized dreads Glinda put in. His eyes go wide. “They’re soft.”

Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m going to take a bunch of these back.” There’s a whole stack Rudy switched out a little while ago we haven’t gone through yet. “At least I got out of the loft for a while.”

A soft laugh draws my attention to him. He’s shaking his head. “You still have a few days.”

“Not going to give it up, are you?” I ask before realizing how it sounds.

An impish grin forms across his face, and he leans the chair back on two legs. It groans in protest, and he slams it down. “There goes the idea of giving it up to you in this chair.”

The immediate mental picture the comment conjures makes me laugh. A light clicks on in his eyes as he laughs with me. I elbow him, “That would be our luck.” I’m only kidding, but when I think about it more, I doubt we’d care if the chair broke, or the table. Maybe even knock over a couple of bookshelves while we are at it. Surprise runs through me that I’m even thinking about it, and when I focus on Rudy, his face is stoic.

“We should get going,” he says, picking up some journals.

I clear my throat and gather some myself. He stands, “I’ll meet you at the truck. I want to get something.” A flashlight clicks on as he makes his way toward the darkened aisles with caution. I watch him move, feeling farther away from him than ever.

Stomping the other way, my pack weighs heavily on my back, and when I open the front door of the library, I find that zombies surround the place.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

They stand there, watching me. Shit. A snarl breaks through the crowd as a zombie comes running from it. I slam the door, trying not to panic. Leaning against the door, I calm my breathing. The thump from the other side makes me jump back. Maybe whatever is happening to me doesn’t work with all zombies. Still, after I take this one out, Rudy will inevitably notice the others watching me. Am I ready to tell him? How can I explain it? “Why can’t they act like zombies for once? Like the moaning, clawing, hungry, chasing after us kind?” I grumble to myself. Moans erupt as more beating on the door ensues. “Oh. Well, okay.”

There has to be a back way in and out. The darkness of the aisles looms ahead as I rush toward the back of the library. The smell of books gets stronger the deeper I go. I notice the dim light right before I smack into Rudy. His flashlight balances on something and falls to the floor.

“Kan?”

“Famished. Out front. We need to go out the back way,” I tell him as I bend to swipe up his flashlight. The beam bounces off his features, and I’m momentarily taken aback at what’s in his hands.

I stand stunned, and he speaks. “Wow. It hurts you looked surprised I can read.”

I’m not sure why I’m amazed at his handful of fiction novels. “Here, put them in my pack.” I turn and feel the weight as he shoves them in. The straps cut into my shoulder. “Damn. I’m not sure I can run with this load.”

“I’ll go get the truck if you cover my back.” He hands me his bow and quiver full of arrows.

“There are a lot of them,” I say, knowing I should be the one to go.

His lips turn up as he holds a hand to his heart. “Then I’m ever grateful you’re here with me, so we can make it out alive.”

“Smartass. You just want to be the one to run them over with the truck.” Still worried about the zombies, I hold up my hands for paper, rock, scissors. He smiles, obliging me.

Shaking our fists three times and throwing out our hands, he laughs. “I knew you’d pick the sharp object.” He taps his rock over my scissors.

We head out onto a tall metal landing with stairs going down to our left just as zombies come running around the corner on the right. What the hell?

Shortly confused at how fast the famished caught on to where we are, Rudy pulls my machete, and I drop the pack for fluid movement.

“I’m not as fast at shooting as you,” I warn him.

“You got me,” he states and doesn’t wait for a response. He jumps off the landing, arching his arm and slicing into a famished on the way down. Blood spurts as the zombie gargles, but Rudy rushes off.

Blood pumps faster through my body as I notch and shoot some in close proximity. He ducks when arrows fly by him. Thankfully, the zombies bypass him and run after me. I don’t think he notices as bodies land with hard thuds. Sweat forms on my hairline when he disappears around the corner. I keep shooting zombies, listening for the start of the truck, but it never comes. “Come here,” I shout. Minutes seem to tick by as more zombies round the corner. When the roaring of the truck echoes, relief flows through me. It bounds around the corner, taking out zombies the whole way. It stops, and I grab my pack to hop in.

Rudy’s covered in zombie fluids and breathing heavy as he speeds off. He grins, “See? I knew you’d have my back.”

My body starts to tremble and I glance out the window as we pass zombies. He grabs my shaking hand, “Hey. We’re okay.”

I nod and continue staring out the window.

*

Not being able to shake my gut full of guilt, which is my typical state lately, I pace around my room. By the time I hear loud clanking outside, I’ve identified each weak spot in the wood floor. Opening my door, I’m in time to see Rudy toss giant square posts in the grass under the escape.

He’s washed up since our earlier errand, but blood still covers his clothes. “What are you doing?” I call down to him.

Looking up, he points to the stairs. “Rigging the fire escape, so it’s more stable.”

I smile. “What’s that saying, the bigger they are the harder they fall? Afraid of falling?”

“No, I’m afraid you’ll fall.”

“Oh,” I say as warmth spreads through my chest. Remembering climbing them crab style a few days ago, I’m touched he thought of it. “Thanks. Need some help?”

He gives me smile before he glances at all the wood. “Nah, I’m just going to measure and cut.”

For a while into the night, I thumb through journals and listen to the sounds of a skill saw. I call it quits when my eyes start to hurt from the dim lighting of one little lamp across the room. From the lack of noise outside, I believe Rudy called it quits, too. Looking out, all of the supplies are neatly stacked and put away for the night. The fence a few yards away from his work area shakes from the famished. I slam the door closed, hoping they’ll be taken out soon.

Nibbling on leftover fruit from this morning, I stare in dismay at the computer ticking off sequences. It does seem like it’s going faster than before. This tidbit perks me up a bit.

A knock sounds at the door, but I keep working on the computer assuming whoever it is will make themselves known. No such luck, this time it sounds like a kick thumping the bottom of the door.

I jump up instantly alert. Blood rushes through my body as my heart picks up speed. I strain to hear outside, but it’s so silent the buzz of the lamp and a few crackles of the dying fire is all I hear. Another thump at the bottom of the door as something shifts on the landing. A pounding starts in my head. Zombies can’t open doors, but how would a zombie get through both fences? Might be possible to have one on the loose from the Clap Trap. Cocking the rail on one of my pistols, I step to the door as it thuds again, fully ready to get rid of a famished corpse from the fire escape. I crack the door to find Rudy standing there with a gigantic box.

My heart still pounds, but I’m relieved and put my gun to my forehead. It probably looks like I’m cooling off with the butt of it. Why do I let myself get worked up? This zombie magnetism is a number one priority to get rid of as soon as Mago shows his face.

“Come in,” I say and hold the door open, sticking the gun in my jeans behind me. He doesn’t take his eyes off me when he walks in.

The cardboard skids on the table as he places the box down. He shrugs out of a leather jacket, leaving a dark brown hoodie on. It takes a minute to realize he’s smiling at me with an odd expression. “What can you be scared of?” Stretching his arm out, he thumbs the gun resting at the small of my back.

I shake out my hands, “Something weird is happening to me. I don’t know how to explain it.” Palpable liberation overtakes my senses, and I know it’s the right thing to do by telling him, even as Mago’s warning flicks through my mind. Rudy’s brow dips, “What do you mean by weird?”

I tell him. Beginning with the dreams and lethargy, moving on to all the uncanny encounters.

“You felt better today, but you’ve been noticing the famished being drawn to you for days now?” he asks, getting his facts straight.

“Yes.”

Leaning forward in the chair, his hair falls around his face. “I wonder how that works.”

Trying not to get frustrated, I sigh. “Rudy, I don’t really care how it works. Why me? What the hell does he want?”

Staring at the empty space between us, he rubs the back of his neck. “You think it has anything to do with Pappers?”

“Maybe, but he took my hair before that happened.”

Standing up, he paces around for a second, and the wood creaks with his strides. “Okay, the only logical thing to do would be to wait for him. In the meantime, don’t tell anyone and try to stay up here.” He shakes his head, “I knew something was weird about them today. They were almost running by me, but I didn’t take any chances—” A sharpness fills his eyes, “You were controlling them then?”

Swallowing a lump, I nod.

“Wow.” An understatement. We both take in the silence before he speaks again, “You’ll stay up here?”

This brings a smile to my face. “The week isn’t up, anyway.”

My eyes stop on the box, which piques my interest. He notices and grins wide, dimples and teeth. “I brought something to help you fill the time. Might even be therapeutic.”

I peek inside. Jars and tubes of paint. Picking up a few, I get a better look. Paint of any color one could think of, and different kinds. Oils, acrylics, and a big palette of watercolors. There’s a box of pastels, a box of charcoals, and several large art pads. There are a few styles of paint brushes I’ve never used before, but my technique has always been simple—I don’t use fancy brushes.

“I don’t know what you like to use. I grabbed anything I could find. I hope I got it close.”

“It’s more than enough. I don’t know what to say.” I smile, dusting off a tube of paint, and I don’t know what he sees on my face. I know what I see in his, though. Hope. It’s contagious, and my chest feels light with it.

“You left me the painting, and I thought it might be something you’d like to pick back up.”

“You have no idea how much this means to me, Rudy. Thank you.” His gesture says more than any words can. “You looted this?”