Controlling the Dead (15 page)

On a counter sits a kitten knickknack on top of a knitted pink blanket. I remember seeing it before. He picks it up, running his hand over its softness. “No, I didn’t live here. I shared a house with Mac.” He hands it to me. “He’s alive. Obviously, they moved the base.” He becomes thoughtful, somewhere miles away. For the millionth time in a week, I feel defeated.

I clear my throat. “Should we tell her? Maybe she wouldn’t be in such a hurry to leave.”

His chest heaves in and out.

“Rudy—”

He holds up a hand, “I don’t want to you to worry about it, Darlin’.”

Falling into a silence, we check all the buildings for useful things, or to see if anyone is left behind, while keeping our eyes and ears open for movement. There is nothing. No living, no dead, no undead. Not even a putrid lurks about.

On our way out, I leave Rudy to his pondering. He drives this time, going out of the way for looting. There’s a list of his own things to get, mostly things for a baby. In turn, it makes me think about everything Rudy has done for me. He saved me from the car wreckage—he fed me, and gave me knowledge, more than that, companionship. Strumming me to sleep with his guitar, I’d wake up with him still there. He fought in the betting ring to get me medication for an infection that we both thought was blood poisoning. Most of all, he pulled off Gray, and let me beat him with a bat until he thought my sanity was in jeopardy. The deal he made with me earlier in the week just so I could rest and eat, most of the time bringing me food himself. He brought me the art supplies. All in all, it doesn’t surprise me he’d do the same for Julie.

“I knew about Jonathan,” he says, pulling me out of my daze.

“What do you mean?”

The steering wheel shudders when he grips tighter and twists his hands on it, turning his knuckles white. “I didn’t know his name at the time. She was seeing him behind my back, when I thought things were getting better. It drove home the fact it was over, and I left her at the base.” His brow lowers. “As if it justifies leaving her there to be brainwashed and impregnated.”

“You feel guilty,” I say, coming to the conclusion we’re in the same boat when it comes to that. Except I feel guilty about the whole shebang. Not just the fact Ariella is left without a dad, but all the other kids affected in my mess.

“Immensely.”

“Someone wise once told me, you shouldn’t hold yourself responsible for what happened because it’s not your fault.”

The meaning of the words he told me himself isn’t lost on him. “This is different, Kan. When I was leaving, she was supposed to meet me, and I had to go back for her. I heard him pleading to her, saw them…” He shakes his head.

“How do you know she wanted to go, then?”

His eyes cut to me as his lips lift. “Good point.”

I smile, hoping I helped to ease the guilt, knowing he’s done the same for me.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

I knock on Guido’s door and it swings open. “Chicka, whut a good surprise.”

Striding in uninvited, I put the box on the floor. It’s full of small propane tanks, the kind used for camping, rolling papers, a ton of sequins, and good grief, underwear. All different kinds, for women and men, I don’t bother to ask what he plans to do with them.

A writhing zombie woman stops short when she…when she what? Sees me? Feels my presence? Two women tend to a male zombie in the corner of the room. Someone obviously tends to these things, I’ve never seen it before and I’m more than a little curious. The male zombie also stops squirming in his binds. I have to get out of here.

Luckily, Guido doesn’t notice. He isn’t even paying attention to any of them, but that is all I need is for him to figure it out.

“Thank yew, Chickie.” He examines the undergarments. What a weird dude. Does he have a fetish for wearing women’s panties? It wouldn’t surprise me.

A clear picture of him in a lacy number and garters like Dr. Frank N Furter sweeps through my mind. My face pinches. “Uh, yeah, no problem.”

He nods and picks up several packs of sequins. I can’t help it— “What do you need those for?”

“Oh, tha King’s jumpsuit,” he says, tipping his head. My gaze follows Guido’s head jerk to the women and male zombie. Dear anything holy, I officially lose any hope for the remains of humanity. The zombie indeed resembles the King of Rock and Roll with his hair styled in the Pompadour-do. A little amused and a whole lot disgusted, my mind imagines zombie Elvis dancing the Twitch. The zombie starts to move his legs in the exact same jig.

I jump back as the women squeal, tripping over the box before landing on my ass. Underwear spills out and propane tanks roll across the floor.

Guido laughs at me and starts to say something, but the women beat him to it. “Guido! He was dancing! He’s perfect!” He turns to them, and my body trembles as I scramble up from the mound of panties and sequin packs.

I turn to go, but pause. “Please tell me as soon as Mago gets here.” I want this famished problem fixed. I need to move forward.

*

The week passes. Finally. Rudy had been right about Mago. Where the hell is he? What’s he doing, besides sending an army of famished my way? I have been scheming these past couple of days and have a plan. Something to do while I wait for Mago.

I’m silent during breakfast with Mac, Reece, and Glinda. They all study my mural. It started out as a barn, but I’ve since expanded it so it’s now in front of a forest with sunrays peeking through and down onto a stream. The barn is old and run down, not in use anymore. My favorite kind. The wood is brown with chipped red paint. The rusty accented tin roof tilts in, and the structure leans slightly, like it could collapse at any second. Brush, weeds, and wildflowers make up the space that would usually be high traffic and worn down to dirt.

“I still want one in my room,” Mac says. I think he’s over whatever his attitude was about, for which I’m relieved.

“And I told you, when I have time.”

“You have nothing but time,” Reece states, studying me suspiciously. Probably wondering what I have up my sleeve now my resting period is over.

I stand and stretch. “Yep, which is why I’m going for a run. I haven’t done it in a while. I’ll see you guys tonight.”

“Oh yeah, Rudy has a fight,” Mac says in a distracted way, like he’s thinking about something else. He jerks and shoots a scowl at Reece as if he kicked him under the table.

I freeze momentarily before covering it up. “He does?”

Reece sighs. “Yeah, he needs gas.” The words come slow and reluctant.

“For what?”

“Well, I think you should ask him—” He stops when he sees my glare. “He’s taking Julie to Arizona.”

I’m stunned into silence for a long moment as dark clouds block the sun. The room dims, matching my descending mood. “That’s right,” I snap. I haven’t seen him since the looting trip. I had assumed wrong in thinking he put the trip off. After jerking on my paint splattered boots, I check my weapons.

They watch me as I put my pack on. It doubles as a holster for my guns on the shoulder straps. I put my bow strap over one arm and head so the strap rests between my breasts. My arrow holster is attached to the left side of my pack and the machete dangles from my pack on the right for easy access.

“Kan?” Reece says. I raise my brows expectantly. “Maybe someone should go with you?” Glinda quickly agrees with him, but I’ve been cooped up for the most part and haven’t had very much time alone.

“Nope. My time. I want to kill some zombies.”

Mac follows me out to the landing. “I think you should go to Arizona, too.”

I grasp the railing. The cold of it seeps into my palms. “Why?”

When I glance at him, he blanks his face. “You’ll be safe there. I don’t want you to put yourself in a situation you won’t be able to get out of.”

In a true Mac fashion, I leave him with an equally cryptic response, “Too late.”

*

When I get outside the fence, I don’t run. I have work to do. First, I need to find a big, empty warehouse. It should be easy since we’re in an industrial park. It also needs to be blocks away from the community. I really don’t want people to know what I’m doing, not until I figure out why I’m doing it.

It takes me a few hours, but I find one about ten blocks away. It’s stable, has no windows, and all the exterior doors are intact. It’s some kind of distribution warehouse judging by the dozen of dock doors and the extensive steel storage shelves that make up the interior. The shipping and receiving signs are a no brainer. Really.

When all the doors and dock doors are closed and locked, I rig an easy access to a dock door with a ramp, so it’ll be the only way in and out.

I turn to my loot, “Okay, go in.” I wave my new zombie friends inside with the machete in hand. I’ve picked up about fifteen just searching for the warehouse itself. They easily follow me and give me no ill will. I suspect if someone is to attack me, they’ll protect. Just like the zombie did with T. Paul. Yeah, creepy, but what can I say? I’m probably one of the few that can go anywhere and not get attacked.

I’m positive the famished will come in handy. I don’t know what for. Now, as for feeding them… I don’t know that either. Hopefully Mago will show up soon enough to tell me. I’ll be careful when I come back and open the door. The last thing I want is for them to turn on me because they’re hungry. Who am I kidding? They’re always hungry. The mechanics of why they aren’t hungry now is a mystery.

They all turned around inside the door, waiting for me to give them a command. “Stay,” I make a stopping motion with my hand. They peer as I close the dock door and use a rope to tie it secure. It clangs with a hollow bang when I pat the metal, “I’ll be back with more friends soon.”

I run the ten blocks so it’ll at least appear I went out for exercise. I throw my pack and bow on my loft floor and stuff a gun in the back of my pants.

Peeling an orange, I stare at the mural. What I wouldn’t do to have what is in Arizona? Something bothers me about it, but I have a feeling I’m not grasping the bigger picture.

I mentally scroll through a list. Zombies have adapted to avoid sunlight and heat. Dead things do not adapt. The Coalition and their secret goals. What the hell are they doing? Dr. Finnegan’s claim to fame by creating the zombies and making a vaccine, a bullshit tactic to keep people under his control when he’s really using blackmail on Mago, and whoever else, to keep the zombies under control. The biggest kicker of it all: how the fuck is this entire thing happening, and why?

Mac plops down in the chair beside me and I jump. I can feel him studying me. I shake myself out of my trance. “Hey.”

“Have a good run?” he asks, never taking his scrutiny away.

I nod.

“Next time you go I want to go, too. I need a run.” He sighs as if he knows it isn’t likely I’ll ask him. Our earlier conversation seems forgotten, but I know better.

“You run everyday,” I tell him. “Why do you need one?”

He shakes his head as if I didn’t catch his point, but I did. He changes the subject, “I came to see if you wanted to go the Trap early. Play a hand of cards. I miss playing with you.” He elbows me lightly.

“You miss me taking your money?”

His blue eyes twinkle. “Among other things….”

I give him a small grin. “I was going to start on a mural for you.”

“Really? I was kidding. You don’t have to.” He bites the inside of his cheek.

“I want to. It keeps me busy,” I beam at him.

Leaning back in the chair, he places his hands behind his head. “Do I get to choose what you do?”

“What would you like?”

“It would involve a self-portrait,” he muses with a twitch of his lips.

I laugh, but shake my head. “I can’t. Apparently, I see myself a different way than everyone else does. You wouldn’t recognize me.”

“That’s the best part, to see what you see, but it’s not really what you see, it’s what you feel.”

“If that’s true, I definitely don’t want to do it.”

“Okay, fine. Paint everyone else.”

I smile at this. “That’s perfect.”

*

I work until nightfall. I tell Mac it’ll take longer because people really aren’t my forte, but I can do them. Everyone’s outlined in our own story plot right on the wall. It will look great when I’m done. Of course I have to sketch a few zombies crawling on the ground and a few running in the distance.

“Are you trying to make me have bad dreams?” Mac jokes.

“It’s not a mural of everyone if there aren’t famished involved. Wait until they’re painted if you think they’ll give you nightmares now.”

“Can’t wait.” He stands and throws on a green army coat. “Just make sure the sun is shining.” We laugh as we make our way to the Trap.

Reece and Glinda are already cozy at the bar with drinks waiting.

“I have a surprise fo yew, Suga.” She lifts a lime. “Yew know? To celebrate your freedom and all.”

“Let’s have at it,” I cheer, eyeing the nearby famished, but then I try to find something else to focus on.

All four of us take a shot of cheap tequila and chase it with lime. The DJ plays a broody, upbeat song. Bodies pivot in unison on the dance floor. As I watch, someone falls across the floor and a fight breaks out. Yelling commences as the onlookers cheer and jeer. The lawlessness of this place astounds me, and it’s a shock no one murders anyone else. One of the guys pulls a gun. I almost jump up, but one of Guido’s lackeys is already on it, proving me wrong. Maybe they do handle things more civilly than I originally thought. The lackey jerks the offender up, sending him straight toward the back door. What’s he going to do?

“Where’s he taking him?” I ask no one in particular.

Mac follows my gaze, narrowing his eyes. “That guy isn’t much trouble, so they’ll make him sleep it off.” He slides me another shot. “Most people aren’t any trouble at all, Kan,” he assures me. “If they are, they get banned and sent out. Despite his repulsive behavior, Guido’s pretty lenient.”