Zombies Don't Forgive (21 page)

Dane turns when I shift my focus to the tall woman in the light blue beret, just as the two Sentinels move forward.

Dane leans even closer and hisses, “Something tells me you're shining me on, Maddy.”

“Right back at you,” I say fiercely, even though he's not the one I'm mad at.

Or is he?

He turns before the Sentinels reach him and doesn't look back.

No final words. No harsh comeback over his shoulder. He just hobbles down the hall, leaning heavily on his nursing home cane as the excess of his baggy sweatpants pools around his ankles.

I watch him go, his shoulders seeming not just wiry but frail, and wonder if I'll ever see him again.

“Well, that went well.” Vera sighs, sliding the chair over just shy of the yellow line.

“Didn't it, though?” I say ruefully, sitting in one of the metal chairs welded to my cell wall.

She has my file on her lap and taps it occasionally with her pen, probably just to remind me not to step out of line.

“Has seeing Dane changed your mind about implicating him so fully in the Barracuda Bay incident?”

I pause, even though my mind is already made up. For effect, you see. “Yeah, actually, it has. But before I do, I want to ask: What will happen to him if I do?”

Vera shrugs stiffly. “Depending on the severity of his actions, he'll remain here for up to 10 years.”

I nod as if I'm still mulling all this over. “And if what he did wasn't that severe?”

“As little as, say, two years.”

Two years. Not bad for a guy who has another few hundred years left in him. And maybe it won't be so bad. They've given him a cane, so the Sentinels can't be all terrible. And sweatpants and a pajama top and shuffly slippers.

Besides, at least he'll be safe. Uncomfortable, maybe even unpopular, and probably not at the top of the fresh
brains list come feeding time every week or so, but safe. Alive.

Where I'm headed, there's no such luck.

I nod, suddenly remembering she's waiting for answers. “What do you want to know?”

Vera returns with several more Keepers the next day, as scheduled. They're there to record my testimony. “For the record,” as Vera puts it quite formally, obviously putting on a show for her colleagues, if not exactly her superiors.

All the Keepers wear their powder-blue Sentinel uniforms, down to the cute beret. All are women. The tall one takes notes in a yellow legal pad, just like Vera's. The shorter one holds out a sleek, white digital voice recorder. The shortest points a video camera at me.

It feels funny being filmed. A little nervously, I crack, “Lucky I'm not a vampire or you couldn't get me on tape, right?”

Predictably, only Vera smiles and merely halfway at that.

Vera faces the short Keeper looking into the video camera, who gives a thumbs-up. So does the one with
the audio recorder. I'm not sure why they need to do both, since even the camera on my cell phone records audio as well, but I'm thinking it has to do with expediency: Don't have time to watch the video? Here. Listen to the audio.

Then again, what do I know?

When all the technology is aligned and the new Keepers are patiently waiting, Vera looks at me and says, “Maddy, are you ready?”

I nod. “How should I start?”

“Let's start with your name.”

“Madison Emily Swift.”

The other Keepers nod at Vera.

“Go on,” she instructs.

“My name is Madison Emily Swift, and I am innocent of all charges …”

Despite Vera's eye roll, I do my dog and pony show for them. I sell Dane down the river.

Big deal. I blame most of it on Bones, that creep, and the rest on Dahlia. But still, that's not enough for them.

“Did Dane willingly engage in open warfare with the Zerkers?” asks one of the Keepers, the one with the blonde hair poking out under her blue beret. She holds out the sleek, digital recorder to get all the juicy bits.

“Yes, but … they started it.”

“Just answer the questions,” Vera coaches from the sidelines.

“They did,” I protest because even though I'm a total turncoat, it needs to be said. “Bones and Dahlia were getting out of control, turning kids willy-nilly. They even turned my best friend, Hazel! What were we supposed to do?”

“Yes or no.” Vera's tone leaves no room for interpretation.

“Yes,” I say dutifully, eyeing the pen as Vera clicks it nervously in her right hand, which probably means she'll be sticking it in her left pocket, out of habit, when she goes to shake the other Keepers' hands before they leave.

“Did Dane try to avoid the conflict with the Zerkers?”

“Yes.”

“Was Dane successful?”

“No, but have you ever tried to reason with a Zerker? Sorry. I mean … no.”

It goes on like that, back and forth, me blaming Dane for just the bare minimum to make the Keepers' trip to the Crestview Rehabilitation Center worthwhile but not enough to send him downriver.

“And Chloe?” says the blonde with the voice recorder, checking some notes in her free hand. “What was her role in all this?”

I shrug, biting my lower lip. No one said anything about dragging Chloe into this. I picture her tall and sturdy frame, her severe face, her pancake makeup, her pierced nose, and her lips that rarely cracked a smile.

“Chloe?” I say, gaze flitting to Vera for guidance.

She offers none.

“Chloe was probably the real reason Dane got involved,” I lie.

Hey, what's she gonna do? Come back to life again and glare at me?

“Explain yourself,” demands the blonde with the tape recorder.

“Well, I mean, Chloe was pretty adamant about us handling that business ourselves. Dane was all for coming to the Sentinels, even the Elders, about our problems, but it seemed like every time he tried to bring it up, Chloe shot him down.”

Vera eyes me warily as the other Keepers look among themselves, then back to me.

“Does Dane not have free will?” the blonde says. “Could he not make his own choices?”

“Sure, but you'd have to meet Chloe to understand. He trusted her, relied on her opinion. I think he honestly believed when she said that by the time the Sentinels got to town, the Zerkers would have won.” Then, during the awkward silence that follows, I just have to add, “Having just lived through my second Zerker attack, I'd have to agree with her.”

Vera crosses her arms and raises her head, but no one else makes a peep. At least if nothing else, it's on the record. I said it.

Eventually, after a couple of painful (for me, any way)
hours, they nod to Vera and turn off the video camera and voice recorder and start packing up. They don't shake Vera's hand (dammit!), but she pockets the pen just the same to walk them down the hall, pointing at several of the empty cells along the way.

None of the powder-blue berets turn back to thank or even acknowledge me, except Vera. Once. She wears a hard-to-read expression.

I shrug and turn away from the bars. What's done is done. Now I just have to let the chips fall where they may.

For Dane, that is.

I stretch while nobody's looking, stretch, stretch, and listen to the footfalls down the hall.

Four pairs of Keeper boots march away. Only one pair returns.

Vera looks a little ticked off when she walks into view.

“What's that look for?” I say, feeling loose, maybe even cocky, from all the stretching.

“I'm not sure how convincing your testimony was.” She stands literally on the yellow line. “I think the Keepers feel like my call in to them was a bit premature.”

“I told them everything I told you.”

“Maybe it was how you said it. You seemed a little wishy-washy on the facts.”

I nod, turn away, then turn back, like there is some huge emotional turmoil going on inside. “Well, what would make them come back?” I say, edging closer to the
bars. “What if I told you … I haven't told you everything?”

Vera shifts my heavy file. “I'd say you were endangering your own freedom.” Her voice is stern and no longer the least bit playful. “The punishment for withholding testimony is often as severe as the crime itself.”

“So I won't withhold it anymore.” I back away from the bars coyly. “But I'm not telling it to those other Keepers. I'll only tell it to you.”

Then I step back and drop my voice an octave. “You're … you're the only one I trust to tell my whole story to. Maybe that's why I sounded wishy-washy to those other Keepers. I don't trust them. But I trust you.”

“What's that?” she says, fumbling for a voice recorder of her own. “I couldn't hear that last part.”

Yeah, dumbass, that's because I was practically whispering so you'd have to come closer.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, only slightly louder this time. “I was saying, I'll only tell you the testimony I couldn't share with the others.” More whispers.

Now she's moving across the yellow line just a tad. “You'll have to speak up. I can't hear you, and if we don't get all this on the record, then I'm afraid your testimony won't count for—”

“Forgive me if I don't want to shout it to the rafters that I'm betraying my boyfriend, okay?” I shout, still clinging to the back cell wall. “I just … you never know who's listening, you know?”

“I'm listening,” she says, voice recorder extended just slightly toward the bars. “Right now, Maddy. I'm listening.” Her voice is slightly desperate, her eyes alive with ambition as she moves forward just another smidge. I can tell there must be some reward for getting my testimony or imprisoning Dane, something that's making this normally rational woman lose her frickin' mind. “Just … tell me what I need to know. I'll make sure Dane stays locked up for a long, long time.”

“You better.” I creep close to the bars, where she lingers just over the yellow line. “Or none of this is going to be worth it.”

“This what?” Fear glimmers across her face as she stands there, too close, but too frozen to step back just yet.

But it's too late. “This!” I leap forward and grab her thumb. I twist it awkwardly so that her hand slips through the bar. Then I yank the rest of her arm all the way in, up to the shoulder.

I break it with a sickening snap and mouth, “Sorry.”

She winces and struggles to reach for her pocket with her one good hand.

Quickly I snatch the pen away before she can. With one click of the top, I stick it in her neck, shocking her into unconsciousness before I can look into her betrayed eyes anymore.

Yeah, bummer. But her arm will recover, like Dane's pinky or leg. And Dad? Dad's still human, and Val won't
show him the same mercy I'm showing Vera. Not by a long shot.

I help Vera slump to her knees and frisk her until I find the key, then let her fall to the floor. Gently, gently!

The minute I unlock the door, I ease Vera into the cell and undress her. I put the clothes the Sentinels picked for me on her and slip into her powder-blue uniform and matching beret, tying the big boots tight. I lean her on the ground with her back to the cell doors, as if she's—or as if I'm—contemplating the opposite wall. Hey, it won't mean much when she wakes up and starts hollering, but until then nobody should come sniffing.

I slip from the cell door and lock it behind me. There are about eight other empty cells to pass before I reach the door at the end of the hallway. I know this plan has about zero chance in hell of working, but if I don't get out of here now, right now, I don't care what Vera says: My dad isn't safe. In Barracuda Bay. Anywhere.

Right now, that's all I care about.

Hazel. Ms. Haskins. Stamp. And Stamp again. I've lost too many innocents to sit around waiting for some Keeper to decide my fate.

I'm going to save my dad. Period. What happens to me after that, I'll deal with it then.

That is, if I don't die again trying first. And I probably will.

I pass each cell, aware that I have a few dozen giant Sentinels to disable on the way out of Dodge. I swallow
air out of habit and slide the key into the door at the end of the hall.

A single Sentinel sits at his single desk and doesn't even look up as I pass. Here I am, loaded for bear, about three milliseconds from shoving the key in his ear hole, and … nothing. Not even a, “Hey, how you doing?”

I nod my beret-covered head at him anyway, but he merely grunts without looking up. There are stairs and an elevator in the corner of the little alcove we're in. I want desperately to run for the stairs, to flee and not look back, but I remember Vera rode the elevator and, since I'm playing the part of Vera today, I press the down arrow button and wait. And wait. And wait.

I hear stirring at my back but don't turn around. I mean, if I really were Vera, would I go jumping every time a fly farts? No, I'd stand right here minding my own business, waiting for the world's slowest elevator to—

“Any progress today, Keeper?” asks the Sentinel at my back.

The way he says Keeper, with such disdain, even if I were Vera, I wouldn't turn around to give this slug the time of day.

“Time will tell,” I say, trying to mimic Vera's slow and low register.

He grunts. “Waste of time, you ask me. I say lock ‘em both up, throw away the key. Serves ‘em right, running from us for so long.”

I wait until the elevator dings and the doors open to
walk in and turn, making sure the panel with the lighted numbers next to the door is hiding my face. “Guess that's why you're a Sentinel,” I say as the doors begin to shut, “and I'm a Keeper.”

His grunt is louder than the first, but the doors now shut him out. I cling to my pen, clicking it on and off twice just to make sure it still works. I get to the ground floor quickly and turn left, though I have no idea where I'm going. I just remember turning right when we walked in and hope to retrace my steps.