Controlling the Dead (18 page)

A light snow falls as I place more zombies in the warehouse. What’s weird is they gather here automatically. I’m guessing this has a lot to do with the mind control thing. Upon shutting them in, I turn and bump into a body.

I follow the dark clothing to Mago’s face. His eyes slide from my face to the dock door. “You’re amassing them? Interesting, Miss Moore.”

Sitting up fast, sweat drips from my temples as I wipe it away. Dex startles, hopping off the bed. I make a quick trip out to the landing, where snow falls.

*

The sun streams in and I watch as Gwen makes her way around, brewing tea. “You all right, Kan?”

“Uh, yeah. Weird dreams.”

She nods as if in understanding, but it really doesn’t help. After getting dressed, I go outside to find a thick layer of snow covering everything.

Kids run around in laughter, building snowmen and throwing snowballs. Rudy hands out new knitted hats, scarves, and gloves to them. I remember helping him stuff them in bags at a sporting goods store. They are the good hats from big brands that will last years. The kids are having too much fun, so I join in the snowball fight.

Before I know it, I’m laughing and wet from the snow. After, I help get the head on the snowman and pat down awkward parts, smoothing it out. The children thank me for helping with red, runny noses and wet gloves. Snowflakes dot their clothing. I don’t know how much time has passed, but the sun peeks out again, making everything bright and cheery. Rudy watches us, leaning against a tree outside the courtyard. I smile at him, and he returns it, coming over to put an extra scarf around the snowman.

The kids go crazy with his idea. “Gotta keep him warm,” Rudy says, smiling at them.

“Thanks,” I tell him. With a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, he moves toward the parking lot. “He’s way too dry. It isn’t fair,” I whisper, conspiring against him. It works, because the kids take off, attacking him with snowballs. He immediately counter attacks, laughing. I watch for a minute, and then go to the loft.

Gwen helps get hot chocolate for the five kids while I change into dry clothes.

*

Next, I need to check on my zombies and collect more. When I come around the corner of my secret warehouse, the famished already did the job for me. Just like my dream. Chills sweep up my spine. More zombies walk around, congregating near the warehouse door. Even though this isn’t a good sign, it’s less work for me. I open the door, slowly, and like before they all stand there. Peering at me in a way that sends chills through my bones.

I turn and herd the rest of them in. The community is in an uproar about the decrease in famished, but after thinking about it, it’s more than usual. I realize now, I’ve been picking up slack from the leftover famished from the base. If I weren’t a magnet, the community would have realized the increase and most likely would be in a bigger panic. Rumors of the famished dying off flood the community. I wish. Nope. Same as usual.

*

When I get to the loft, it’s almost dark, winter giving in to short days and long nights. Gwen is feeding people. Mainly with food she brought herself, but I help with fresh food from the marketplace. I’m beginning to think this is what she does and loves to do. This is when I find out Rudy and Julie plan to leave in two days.

Taking this news in stride, I kick back on the floor with a cup. Mac is beside me, both of us leaning against my bed. Gwen cooked up a yummy version of gumbo. Like in New Orleans, I pick the meat out, and flop it into Mac’s cup. He grins, eating with renewed gusto.

“Oh Kan, I’m sorry. I forgot about your preference for vegetarianism,” Gwen says in distress.

“No, don’t be. I pick it out.” It’s some kind of ground sausage.

Reece chimes in, “Just as good as the gumbo in New Orleans.”

“You had gumbo in New Orleans?” Rudy asks.

“Yep. With gator and shrimp,” he chuckles. “Kan thought it was sausage.”

“Ha. Ha,” I deadpan as everyone laughs at my expense.

Rudy shakes his head, slumping. “Damn, that sounds really good.”

“Rudy had a pet gator,” Julie smiles at him, patting the baby’s back. “My dad used to joke with him about catching it and throwing it in a pot with celery, carrots, and onions.”

“He wasn’t a pet. He hung around wanting food.”

I’m soaking in all this information like air and I haven’t breathed in hours. Julie’s eyes fill with mischievous mirth. “You named him Slash!” At this, everyone starts in on the jokes, and Julie keeps going, “He talked about him like he was this giant loch ness creature, and when I first saw Slash, he was a foot long.”

“No, he wasn’t. He was two feet.” Laughter ensues, and Rudy laughs with us, but he grows a little somber after a minute.

After the meal, everyone passes around a bottle of PGA. To my surprise, Gwen drinks with the rest of us. Everyone chats about the snow and missing zombies as they play Rummy. Gwen glances my way knowing exactly where the zombies are. Rudy and I talk about our trip, and how the zombie base looked. The damage the bombs made pleases Reece, judging by the grin on his face. I get out my sketchbook and sketch Reece and Glinda saying sweet nothings to each other.

“Better than a camera, you are,” Mac comments.

I peek at him. “I’m getting better at drawing people. I like it.” Mac takes a swig of liquor and passes the bottle. I sip it, heating my insides while keeping an eye on a very homesick Rudy.

*

Two days pass. Agitation worms its way through my being beyond control. Everything annoys the hell out of me—the inaction of waiting for Mago being number one. The warehouse full of zombies is a burden to hide. I’m so thwarted by the entire situation, I might go blow the whole thing up. Mostly, Rudy is leaving for an indefinite amount of time.

With burning eyes, I jump up and head to the targets. A few hours in, Julie comes to see me.

“Mac told me you were out here, ripping up the targets.”

 “Yep.” I stop, disengaging an arrow. I wonder if she’s here to say bye. I doubt she cares.

She sighs, “Listen, Kan…” She bites her lip as the wind blows her blond curls into the air. “Rudy was raised by his irresponsible mother.” I raise my eyebrows. Why is she telling me this? “His mother went in and out jail. Often, and he’d go to live with his aunt for a while. That’s how I met him. His aunt was my dad’s secretary. He’d go back and forth, switching schools. Eventually his aunt passed away and his mother left him when he was of age.”

I’m speechless. She goes on, “During all this time, my dad became his dad. Did everything a dad was supposed to do with a son. Football games, fishing, archery, and he even worked at my dad’s construction company. We took him in when he had no other place to go, so he could finish school and start college. I don’t know for sure, but I think my dad asked him to take care of me before he died of the cancer he battled for only a year.

“When you two didn’t find Jonathan, I think it hit too close to home.” She laughs, “It’s what drove me nuts about him, keeping everything locked up to deal with himself.” It would hit close to home. He wants Ariella to have her mother and father. He doesn’t want to repeat the cycle.

Anger surges through me. Protectiveness rises to the surface as everything clicks into place. This is the reason he keeps himself closed off. He has not been the same since our looting trip and it got worse when Mac’s mother showed up, triggering memories. Without thinking, I grab her by the arms. A flash of fear flicks behind her eyes. She’s lucky I’m not squeezing her neck. “What you’re telling me is, you used this against him. Manipulating him,” I say through clenched teeth. Deadly calm. My Bersa’s presence throbs more than I’ve ever been aware of it before. She flinches and her face falls as if this never occurred to her. “Why tell me this? You’re leaving. He’s leaving.” And I’ve tried my damnedest to be supportive of the decision.

Her chin lifts in a defiant gesture and I suppress the urge to slap it off her face. I deserve a pat on the back. Scratch that. A pat on the back and a cookie.

“I want to find Jonathan,” she says, trying to stand a little straighter through my grip. “He’s alive, and I want to find him.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, letting go and stepping back.

“I’ve talked Rudy into going to find him. I want you to help us.” Of course, she wants my help.

A bitter laugh escapes my throat. “Are you fucking crazy? We might be traveling a long way, straight into a horde of zombies.”

“You’re the one to talk,
Kansas
,” she spits my name out like something filthy.

 “You have a baby. Shouldn’t you be worried about her? Shouldn’t her needs come first?”

“They do, and if her father’s alive, then she needs him. Same as me.”

Appears as if I’m not going to talk her out of it. “There’s only one person who can tell me where he might be. I guess you get to play the waiting game along with me.” I smile tightly at her.

“Huh? Who would know where he is?”

“Mago.”

*

In the coming weeks, that’s what we do. We wait. I get the whole team together, feeling good to be doing something productive. Reece decides to make more bombs.

I keep storing famished like household perishables. Sometimes Gwen even goes with me, and advises I should tell someone. I assure her I will—once I figure out what to do with them.

On down times, I sit with Mac and Gwen at his booth drawing everyone in the marketplace doing what they do every day. One of my favorites is of Mac concentrating on an arrow. Curls fall on his forehead, hiding his face with his hands precisely placing the fletching. I draw children, giving the pictures to their parents. They are grateful to have pictures of any kind. That helps to pass the time.

I also shot myself up with the birth control. Even though the formula is new, it isn’t like birth control hasn’t been around for decades.

I spend way too much time thinking about Rudy, his childhood, and how everything clicks into place. All it does is make me feel insignificant and thoughtless. There I was, a spoiled brat with two parents and a boyfriend that loved me. While Rudy fought to be accepted. To be loved. The one person who did show him kindness and love died a painful, slow death. I wonder about his mother and about the whole story. No wonder he closes himself off. Maybe he needs prompting to talk about it. Maybe I’ve caused him enough grief and should leave it alone.

I tear my eyes away from Rudy and focus on my target, pulling back the bowstring. I hit the target with precision. Sam and Ty are right beside me, talking about the lack of famished. Reece peers at me.

“What?” I ask him.

He notices Sam and Ty listening to us. “I think we should talk in private.”

We walk toward the courtyard. “Where are you putting the famished?”

I gulp. No sense in denying it, “Uh, in a warehouse, about ten blocks away. How did you figure it out?”

He stares at me. “I was there when he cut off your hair. The zombie when we were picking up your bed. The fact you hardly leave your loft or go into the Trap. When you do leave your loft, you leave the community and zombies are missing. Wasn’t that hard. Now, why are you putting them in a warehouse?”

“I’m not sure, but when I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“Kan, you have to stop. People are getting concerned. Just let them come.”

I shift my weight and cross my arms. “Then I have to stay in my loft, because they act really weird around me.” I lower my voice, “They stand there.”

Reece notices my discomfort with the whole thing. “Stop, they’ll kill them before they notice anything.”

“I already have to stay away from the Trap. I’m telling you Reece, they stop and watch me. I’ve never seen anything like it. Well, I have, but not me. You know?”

He nods. “The zombie in New Orleans. Is it like that?”

“Yep,” I say. A thoughtful expression appears on his face. “Don’t tell anyone yet. Please. I might have to blow up the warehouse if I can’t figure something out.” I start pacing.

His eyes widen, but the prospect obviously thrills him. “How many do you have?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve lost count. Around two or three hundred. I’ve been collecting them for a while.” I watch my feet. “To tell you the truth, I think I’ve been picking up leftover famished from the base, too.” I take a breath.

“Holy Mary. You have to stop, but I won’t say anything.” He pauses, “And of course, I’ll help you blow them up, if need be.”

I can’t help a grin. Leave it to Reece. “Maybe I can let some out for target practice.” I shake my head. “No, that would make it worse. I want to keep it under wraps for now. I hope Guido doesn’t get word that I can do this.”

He nods his agreement and walks toward the targets.

I’m going to my loft, when Mac catches up with me in the courtyard. “Hey, Sunshine.” The sun is setting and casts an orange glow on everything.

“Hey, yourself.”

Wariness settles in my bones at his intense stare. “Mago’s here,” he tells me with a tight mouth. “He wants to talk with you.” The world tilts.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

The first thing I do is meet with him alone. Mago unnerves me, to say the least, and even more so with the recent very vivid, very tangible dreams. When I open the door to Mac’s room, Mago studies the mural on the wall. Goose bumps rise on my skin as I take in his disturbing presence. With it being a cloudy day, the room is dim, making him seem that much more dark.

He turns and contemplates me, studying me with an apathetic expression. I rub my arms even though I wear a thick jacket.

I get right to the point, not thinking. Just blurting. “What the hell have you done to me? The dreams? Siccing zombies on me? I’ve been a fucking nervous wreck.”

If I hadn’t been searching for any signs of his thoughts, I would have missed the tick of his mouth. He narrows his eyes, “I did not
sic,”
he draws out the word, “the living dead on you, Kansas Moore. You are empathetic to them, yes?”