Dearly, Beloved (29 page)

“Yeah.” Claudia let me go and continued on to the tent, the others falling in behind her.

Moving to the back, I could hear Mártira interrogating the first few entrants. I was the last to duck in, and I drifted toward the low, armless stool I knew awaited me along the eastern sweep of the wall. The others filed in around me, finding seats.

“What is the meaning of this? I didn’t summon any of you.” Mártira stood beside a red velveteen curtain nearly the same shade as her hair, her eyes narrowed. Her tent was filled with orphaned pieces of furniture, salvaged luxuries, and long swaths of patchwork fabric created from handkerchiefs that Mr. Invierno’s boys had once pickpocketed but couldn’t sell. Just like her room back in town.

“I’m here to ask for a vote on behalf of Hagens, sister,” Claudia said, as she and Hagens remained standing. “That’s why I brought the leaders.”

“About time this happened,” said Mr. Invierno. He was a little person, now a little zombie, with a mad thatch of black hair and swollen features roughened by drink and death. Allende was seated next to him.

“Indeed.” Mother Perfore, formerly the leader of the streetwalkers, leaned forward and flicked a length of ash from her stubby cigar. She was missing both of her eyes. One of her girls had used black quilting thread to tether her eyelids open, and the exposed sockets were black and gaping. “Get talkin’.”

Claudia glanced at Hagens, ceding the floor. Hagens hooked her thumbs into her leather waistcoat—she wore a jacket, waistcoat,
and trousers, like a man—and said, “You never listen, so I chose to talk to the others first. I’ve come here to convince you that we need to get Smoke back. And I think I know how.”

Mártira responded to this strange statement with silence. Hagens apparently viewed that as permission to continue. “I told you that before I came here I served in a company of zombies affiliated with the army.” Hagens spared a look at Claudia’s face. “The man who formed it was Dr. Victor Dearly. And he has a daughter who’s immune to the Laz. The only immune individual discovered so far. She was here last night.”

“Immune?” Mártira asked, still puzzled.

“Totally unaffected.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with us.”

“Everything,”
Hagens said, pulling her hands free of her clothing. “Have
you
given one thought to Smoke since he was arrested? Especially now that we all know just how important he is? That he’s carrying a new form of the illness?”

“Of course I have, but that is none of your concern.”

“It
is
my concern. Bombs, guns, none of those things matter anymore
—he
is currently the most dangerous thing on the face of the earth. We can’t leave him in human control. Let them use him. You know how these things work—he’s a big freaking bargaining chip!”

“Be that as it may—”

“And so is the girl! Nora Dearly!” Hagens’s delivery was so forceful that Mártira actually hushed. “If we bring Miss Dearly here, we could exchange her for Smoke. Or, if her people don’t want her back, we could use her as bait to reel in a better hostage. Her father, for example? The infamous Dr. Dearly?”

Dearly? Girl? It hit me that they must be discussing the black-haired girl I’d seen the previous evening, and I sat up taller, wondering what this was really about.

“Our brother bit people. He is where he needs to be, at the
moment.” Mártira paused. “Are you honestly suggesting we try to get him out of prison? Engage in kidnapping, extortion?”

“Bro …” Hagens threw up her hands. “You need to stop talking like this group is some kind of commune! We can’t just sit around with our ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’ and sing songs about love and death. Do you not
see
how the living could exploit Smoke? As a nuclear option against the other living tribes? As propaganda, to convince the living of the need to exterminate every last zombie? As an excuse to give the army more power—the very same army that once tried to hunt us all down?”

“I’m not about to participate in your schemes.” Mártira pointed to the door. “You know what, Miss Hagens? I don’t think you belong here after all. I think you should get your things and leave.”

Hagens stared at my sister for the longest time, rage building behind her eyes. “While you’ve been planning parties, I’ve been worrying about the fate of zombiekind. This morning, while you were asleep,
I
was coming up with a plan that didn’t have to end in bloodshed. And after spending weeks trying to get you to stop acting like some kind of resurrected saint and to move your people somewhere safe! Who doesn’t belong here, again? Make it fast, because I won’t waste any more time!”

Mártira looked long and hard at Hagens, but in the end said only, “When I took you in, you sang a different song. I don’t know what’s happened to you, in the space of a month, to make you so angry. But it’s unwanted here.
Leave
.”

“Have the men gone out?” Bruno asked suddenly. Without the red makeup he wore onstage, his skin was visible, marked by constellations of acne scars. “Maybe we won’t even need the girl.”

“Yeah,” Claudia said, her voice softening. “They have.”

Mártira turned her attention swiftly to Claudia. “Men? What men? What is he talking about?”

I thought for a moment that Claudia looked unsure. “Hopefully Smoke will return today. Late last night …” She looked at Hagens, as if for a cue, before recovering. “One of the drunk humans started talking about a plan to move him into the city again, so we sent a bunch of men to stop them. We told them the orders were yours. But it was last minute. A chance we had to take. So if that doesn’t work, we
need the girl
as a backup plan.”

Mártira reached out and caught the curtain. “What?” She glared at Hagens. “What have you
done
?”

“Zombies could raise money and picket for his release until their flesh started falling off in hunks, but the humans wouldn’t turn him over.” Hagens shook her head. “We can get him back using a relatively peaceful way, or a violent way, but we have to
get him back
.”

“You come to ask for a vote, and you’re already ordering my people around? Speaking for me? You forget your place!”

“I don’t have a ‘place,’ ” Hagens sneered. “Why do you think I’ve been hanging out with you guys, in a city I loathe?”

“We have to
vote
,” Claudia argued. “We don’t
want
to do things behind your back. We want you in on this. But we have to get Smoke back, no matter the cost.”

“Absolutely not!” Mártira turned toward her. “Are you insane? What game are you two trying to play?”

“A game that’s changing, like she said,” Claudia yelled. “You’re never going to convince the humans to get along with us. They’ll always be afraid of us!”

“The living come here every night! Things have gone badly the last few weeks, yes, but everyone can get back on track. Soon we’ll be able to shelter even more zombies—”

Mother Perfore spoke up. “ ‘Badly’? Were you not at the docks t’other day? I was fine with being an outlaw, bein’ hunted for what I done—but I won’t be hunted for what I
am
.”

“Aye,” Invierno agreed. “And it’s time to teach ’em that. I say Hagens has the right of it. The humans need to learn a lesson. Get knocked down a peg. We got to avenge our dead, and you won’t let us. You won’t even let us work. Hagens speaks sense.”

“Stop using that word!” Mártira drew herself up majestically. “We are the same species, the human living and the human dead.”

“And so Smoke means nothing to you?” Claudia said hatefully, her eyes cutting over Mártira’s shoulder, boring into my own. “What about the zombies killed on the docks? What about the rest of us? Do you not hear what we are saying? Do you not see how Smoke could even keep us safe by making the living afraid to mess with us?”

“Is that why you want him?” Mártira asked of Hagens.

“One of ten thousand reasons,” Hagens replied. “But the less you know, the better off you’ll be.”

I looked away. Still, something in me wanted to speak. “The people on the ships helped us,” I said softly, hoping only Mártira would hear. “Claudia said they wouldn’t, but they did. The living doctor there, he helped Dog. Another living doctor came with Mr. Griswold. They’re not all bad.”

“Of course they’re not, dove.” Mártira tilted her head. “But what do you mean, ‘came with Mr. Griswold’?”

I could feel the others glaring at me as I answered, “He was here last night. To see Dog. Hagens told him to leave.” My fingers started to tremble as I said it, but I knew I had to. “The girl’s his doll. I think. The girl they want to … kidnap.”

“I see.” Stiffening, Mártira faced Claudia again. “Of course Smoke means something to me. We will take him back if they free him, just as we will show mercy to any zombie who tastes madness and then repents—but we will not cause more fear, more destruction. We can only change attitudes through
love
. And you need to stop listening to those who would tell you otherwise.”

Oh, how I loved to hear Mártira speak. Her words were warm, inspirational, dear as gold buttons plucked from the costume of a rich woman—like the stories she always told.

“Where are you getting this stuff?” Allende said. “When we were the Grave House Gang, we were
feared
. That’s why we were so large—everyone wanted in. Because we could offer protection, organization … we could
kill
, if we had to. We could defend our turf.” For a moment Allende almost looked despairing. “You’ve changed. The rest of us haven’t.”

“That was before I died.” Mártira looked ashamed, but her voice remained strong.

“Sister, listen.” Claudia laid her hand on Mártira’s arm, a strange light filling her eyes. “You
have
to help us. This is your one chance. Tell us to get the girl.”

Mártira took her arm back. “No. It is I who must help you. Don’t you see what you’re talking about, Claudia? Don’t you see this is madness?” She turned to Hagens. “How dare you come here, to my home, and twist things the way you have? Confuse people? You have no right.”

Hagens studied my sister, her expression hardening. “I thought you might say that.”

I heard the muffled but oddly sharp sound, even jerked in response to it, long before I realized what it meant. I saw Mártira fall to the floor, almost like a piece of fruit drifting through halfset aspic. I saw the hole in her forehead, a dark and unseeing third eye.

“Mártira?” I said, rising to my feet. Around me I knew the leaders were rising, yelling, but they might’ve been miles away. I pushed through them and fell to my knees at my fallen sister’s side, clutched her ice-cold arms.

She was silenced. Forever.

“No!” Claudia screamed. “We were going to convince her,
vote her out as leader! You goddamn bitch, you didn’t say you’d kill her!”

Before I could even look up, before I could think of doing anything, another shot rang out. To my left, inches away, Claudia landed in a heap, something oozing from her temple and her eyes horribly wide.

“Get up.”
I heard Hagens cock the gun again, felt the shadow of her arm pass over my body. Lifting my eyes with a tearless sob, I found her own, so damningly placid. The leaders hadn’t taken her down. Instead they were all standing, watching the scene with a resignation that made me want to scream. “I won’t kill someone kneeling.”

“No.” Bruno stepped forward and got in Hagens’s physical space, baring his teeth, forcing her back. “She’s just a girl.”

“She’s a Cicatriz.” Hagens aimed her silenced pistol upward and let Bruno have a bit of ground. Still, she was firm. “Isn’t this how a regime change is done in your world? How a new leader is chosen? Like a pack of wolves?”

“It is.” Mr. Invierno came forward and took Bruno by the pants leg. “Leave it be, Allende. We been talkin’ about this before Hagens even showed up. Mártira had to go. Only reason she lasted this long, what with her rule about not bringin’ in ill-got money, is ’cause none of us need t’eat now.”

Mártira. Claudia. My family. As if nothing was going on around me, as if people weren’t calmly debating whether they should let me live or die as I sat between my sisters’ bodies, I bent over them, my own body trying to weep. The last time I’d heaved and choked like that had been the night I’d turned her, at her request—turned Mártira, lovely Mártira, my only protector against Claudia’s cruelty, into the most beautiful of zombies by letting her sip delicately from my wrist, as one might from a glass of wine. No bite. No fear. Only acceptance.

Let Hagens shoot. Let it happen.

Silence took over. After a moment I dared to look up. I found no shock, no wonder, no fear among the leaders. Instead,
I
was the spectacle.

Hagens relented, clicking her safety on. “Take her back to the tent, then. Make sure she doesn’t talk.”

Bruno did as she ordered. I tried to struggle as he lifted me, tried vainly to cling to Mártira’s cold body, but he pried my fingers free and hefted me over his broad shoulder, hissing into my hair, “I saved your life. Don’t make me regret it.”

He might as well have said nothing. As he carried me outside, ignoring my wails, I stretched out like an imbecile for the bodies on the ground. As if my arms were long enough to reach them, as if my heart were large enough to fold both of them into and keep.

By nightfall, everyone knew.

When the cloud of fairy lights was aglow and the fires were roaring, Hagens and the leaders took the stage. By then the zombies sent to fetch Smoke had come back to report on their failure. They brought the bodies of the fallen with them.

Hagens told the rank and file that they’d gone to the tent that afternoon, only to find Mártira dead. Shot through the head, cleanly and once, as only a human would think to do. That the sight had caused Claudia to kill herself before anyone could stop her.

“One of the human visitors must have slain her as she slept. Slain two of them—one through grief.”

“We can’t go to the police,” someone said. “They’ll arrest half of us just for standing there. Some of us got rap sheets that could wind inside a player piano.”