Controlling the Dead (32 page)

“You know how long it’s been since I’ve had coffee?” They blink and the guys go back to their conversation. Glinda watches me, but I ignore her scrutiny by pouring coffee and letting the steam hit my nose.

“Kan, I brought some things you might need for in here. Including the mugs and a coffee pot,” Gwen says and winks. “You’ll have to get food and things from the market. They tell you how they do it?”

“You mean that orientation thing? Only to the families, I think. Martin just gave us the rundown of the town and told us we have a few days to settle.” I pile my plate with fruit, hopping on the counter.

“That’s strange. They usually do a full orientation with blood work and physicals.”

“Oh! That. Reece and I got letters in tha mailbox. Yew probably got some, too, Suga.”

Gwen laughs at my expression. “They send out important newsletters and things. Better check it.” Rudy bumps himself from the counter and disappears through the door. This is too weird.

I hold up a finger at Glinda. “Wait a minute. How’d you know to check it?”

“I didn’t. Saw tha guy put something in there. I was kinda shocked.”

“I better check mine, too,” Sam chimes in. “Not that it matters, if we are going to Nashville.”

Rudy strolls in a minute later with two envelopes in his hand, and gives me one with my name on it. Opening it, it’s indeed an appointment for a blood work screening and physical check-up. It tells me the time and date, and where to go along with a map of the town.

Rudy tosses his on the counter after scanning it. “I think we should make our own community.” His statement silences everyone.

It’s not a bad idea really, but… “Well, it wouldn’t be as fancy as this place. I mean, blood work?” I wave the letter like a fan.

“You lived by yourself for four years and survived. If we keep it small, we wouldn’t draw too many famished.”

Gwen has a serious expression. “I really think you should reconsider that. You’d all be a great asset here.” No one says anything else, because truthfully, neither Rudy nor I trust this place very much. It’s all too good to be true.

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A few days later I’m riding with Rudy in his truck to Nashville. We’ve taken two vehicles. The other holds Reece, Sam, Bunyan, and Thomas. We decided not to take anyone else per the council’s suggestion, much to the council’s dismay, but we assure them we’ll be back and help get other survivors from another compound.

Sketching a canyon landscape, I’m clean, rested, and oversexed, but it won’t last long.

“Can I ask you something?”

He cuts his eyes to glance at me. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Did you ever think about trying to find your mother?”

“Julie tell you about her?”

“Yes.”

“I thought about finding her all the time, but it would only bring me down. So, I never did.” He pauses, “I spoke to her, once. After she left. It was a few years later.” Shaking his head he continues, “I’ve never told anyone that.”

“So she found you.”

“No, Kan. She knew where I was if she ever really wanted to see me. And to tell you the truth, now that I’m grown and I’m not bitter about it, the last time I saw her she told me where I could find her, too. I never wanted to go back to where I grew up.” He grows somber, staring out the widow, but continues to tell me about where he grew up, about a half hour from New Orleans in a close-knit swamp community. He gets quiet again, lost in his own thoughts.

I start sketching again, thinking this over. Eventually, I take his hand in mine.

He smiles, “A swamp is a far cry from suburbia and clockwork mechanisms.”

My body tenses, more in surprise than anything. There’s only one reason he’d mention clockwork mechanisms. “You’ve been to the house.”

He nods, “Reece and I went to search for you after you were taken.” The cab gets silent and he glances at me. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No. Just surprised is all. There’s barely anything left of it. I torched it.”

“There was one room untouched by accelerant.”

He’s right, I skipped over my dad’s office. “It wasn’t important at the time and I didn’t want to waste tequila. I needed it to be enough to make it unlivable. Were Nadine and Bridget there?”

“The two women? No. No one was there. In fact, there was a dead body in the backyard. The guy Mac shot in the head.” He squeezes my hand.

I should think about what fate might have brought Nadine and Bridget, but I can’t bring myself to give a shit.

“Anyway, it was worth going just to see pictures of you as a child.” He shoots me a cocky grin.

The day we spoke to each other about being cute kids comes back to me. He knew all along. I shake my head. I’m sure he saw way more pictures than that, but I don’t ask and he doesn’t bring it up again.

Later that night, we make camp in Texas and come up with a plan for when we get to the community. We still have about a day until we get there.

We are on the road in the early hours and drive into the night, only stopping in search of gas and for personal needs. It’s late at night before we stop about two hours from Nashville while Reece, Sam, Bunyan, and Thomas move on to the community, like they are back from the mission. In the morning, Rudy and I will drive and wait a few blocks from the community for one of them to come gets us and report how things are carrying on.

We eat the last of our food stash from Arizona and I climb into the truck as Rudy strums his guitar on the mattress. His stubble has grown out in the past day, and dark circles ring his eyes from all the driving. I’m jet lagged myself. “I can drive tomorrow if you want.”

He shrugs. “If you want, but once we get back to Arizona, I don’t want to go anywhere for awhile.”

“I think we’ll have some down time. We also can’t make a pattern. We don’t want the revolutionists to figure out where we’ll go next. We have to be random. The timing has to be staggered, too.”

He grins at the prospect of down time, and it’s contagious. What’s a life worth living and all that?

I lie down and put my head on his leg, remembering the first time I ever had my head in his lap. He had been cleaning the nasty, infected gash on my scalp. My lips spread into a grin.

*

I wake up to darkness in the truck and something feels off. Thinking a zombie might have set off our noise trap made of nonperishable cans, I sit up and search for any movement outside the open vault doors, which we left open for a breeze. I strain to listen. Nothing. Just silence. Sweat trickles down my back. I lie down, and we are wrapped around each other again, even though it’s way too hot, and his soft breath blows on my forehead. I barely press my lips against his. “Rudy, something feels—”

“I know, Darlin’.” He flips over on top of me. “I need you.” Everything turns desperate after that and I’m not sure why.

*

We park near the old warehouse I kept the zombies in. I wish they were still in there. They could be a little useful right now. There are none in sight. “If I find some zombies, we are bringing them,” I tell Rudy.

“Good idea.”

We gear up. Rudy straps his massive bow to his back. He has a shoulder holster with his guns, and he has another one and clips hidden. His hunting blade is sheathed in his boot. I have my pack on, complete with machete, guns and extra clips. I add my crossbow arrows to my makeshift holster on the side of my pack and carry the crossbow with five loaded, brightly colored arrows. These five happen to have purple and blue fletching. We both keep a lookout for any movement. The impending dread from last night hasn’t left either one of us.

“You like it?” Rudy ask, glancing at the crossbow.

I raise my brow. “You knew?”

He smirks. “He’d been working on it for a while. Even before you were kidnapped.”

“You should see it fly. Pretty powerful.” We start walking to a closer spot, moving quietly and taking in our surroundings.

“If Mac made it, I’m sure it does, Darlin’.”

“You’ll see it in action soon enough,” I beam. He grabs my hand and squeezes as he returns the grin.

Rudy’s smile falters and he blinks as his hand goes slack. “K—” He trips over his feet and falls face first onto the pavement. My vision wavers as my heart skips.

“Rudy?” My voice shakes. I immediately bend next to him as I start to tremble. Taking a deep breath, I reach for him when I see it. A tiny dart is barely visible on his neck because of his hair. A sting on my own neck soon follows. I pull out the dart and peer at it with blurry vision. Blinking my eyes, the world swims and I fall right on top of him. Footsteps come closer. Then nothing.

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I wake up groggy with a splitting pain in the front of my skull. My mouth is dry and stretches out in the corners as if I was gagged at some point. I’m on a cot, not tied up. This is good news. Bad news—I’m no longer armed and Rudy is nowhere in sight. I scan the room to see brick walls, a shut door, and a two-way mirror. The cot is the only furniture, and beneath me, the cot’s blanket is in a tight military fashion.

Standing up, I immediately sit back down from dizziness.

“You’ll be fine when the drug wears off.” I jump up and spin to see an older man in a uniform. My head feels light, but I push through it.

“Where’s Rudy?” I almost curse myself when he smiles, as if my question is the best question I can ask.

“Still sleeping. We gave him a bit more than you, since he is reasonably larger,” he informs me. I step back. He holds out his hands. “Aspirin and water. You probably have a headache.” He blinks at me as I take the cup and pills.

“What are we doing here?”

“I’ll explain when you’re feeling better.” With that, he walks out and shuts the door.

The drug did take a few more seconds for me, I remember pulling out the dart. Rudy had fallen right away. So much for keeping my word to Nastas about avoiding this place. What the hell do they want with us? Maybe it’s a good thing they didn’t put us in the same room. I would have shown concern, and I don’t want them using us against each other.
Too late
. Too late for everything.

I lie down and stare at the ceiling, waiting for them to come and get me.

Hours pass before the door opens again. A woman stares at me as she strolls in. The feeling she’s sizing me up doesn’t sit well. She wears a white T-shirt tucked into green pants, tucked into boots. Her bright red hair is in a bun at the nape of her neck. My heart skips at the all-too-familiar dress.

“Kansas, my name is Carrie Morgan.” She watches me for some kind of reaction. I don’t give her one, nor do I say anything. She sighs, “Come with me.”

We step into a long hallway and pass a big room with double doors and a cacophony of voices. The noise dies as we walk by, and when I glance in there are several men dressed in the same attire, sitting at tables. They give me curious stares, but they all look worn down.

Carrie takes me to a shut door at the end of the corridor. The inside is an office, and a man sits behind a metal desk. Standing, he holds out his hand and I oblige and shake it. It is a firm handshake, one to respect. “Please, sit. I’m General Stevenson.”

He waves at the woman, dismissing her. “Private Morgan, thank you.” After the door closes he gets right to business. “Please, do tell me what has happened to Staff Sergeant Collins?”

“Sergeant?” I blurt. I don’t know anything about military ranks, but that sounds pretty high on the rack.

“Yes, special ops Staff Sergeant. I would like to know what happened to him. I have received an ID tag, implying he is deceased.”

I swallow and watch my fingers work and knot together in my lap. “He is. We buried him in Nebraska.”

“I know all of that. What happened?”

“Dalton didn’t explain? He was the one with the dog tag,” I say, meeting his eyes. They narrow around a gray color, set into a pale, wrinkled face.

“The tag showed up in an unmarked envelope.” He slumps in his chair as if I really surprised him about something, and he doesn’t like it.

“I don’t know how much you know about the community—”

“Just assume I know everything and you’re telling your side.”

I nod. “Guido shot him in the gut…he bled out.” My voice cracks. He stares at me.

“Terrance wants to keep his ways, huh?” The general says, my eyes widening at his understanding. He rubs his chin as he contemplates something. “Was Collins helping you with anything?”

“Just the…” I don’t know what to say or how to explain.

“The Montana compound,” he finishes for me. Not sure where this is heading or what he wants to know, I don’t deny or confirm it. “Now that Collins is gone, and I will speak with Sgt. Jackson, believe me, something is up with that. But now, I need your help.” Sergeant Jackson? That must be Dalton.

“With what?”

“You are what I need. Your crossings with the revolutionists will help with that.” He studies my reaction.

“Just helping the people who need it.”

Stevenson scoffs and throws a pamphlet on top of his desk. “I’d say more than that. This pamphlet showed up with the ID tag.” It’s the leaflet with my mug shot on the front. I try not to gasp. Dalton. “I will have you know, they only see you as a fly needing to be swatted. Makes you a perfect candidate, I’d say.” He takes out another couple of folders. He opens one. “Kansas City Sunshine Moore, brought in for car theft, no charges were made. Internet forgery, federal felony, you weren’t convicted—the charges were thrown with service to the county system. Some community college classes, nothing special. Extensive art classes, waste of time and money, I’d say.

“That is not what interests me.” He turns the pages and reads out loud, “Dr. Patrick Hampton Moore Sc.D.—” He goes on, but I’m frozen. I force a lump down my throat. This is what Mac and Rudy have been afraid of. “Postdoctoral from MIT! A doctor of science and technology only became a lowly professor at a state university. Wasteful!” the general says with excitement, clucking his tongue. What he doesn’t know is, my father’s time was more important to him than anything a scientific research job would have given him, like recognition and a handsome salary. Then the general goes on to name a list of people my father had been in contact with in the last two years of his life, and their degrees in physics, biology, and chemical engineering. I swallow another lump in my throat, remembering colleagues of my dad’s flying in for weekend visits—friends of my father’s who shared his worldviews. The general is interested in all of them, “Too bad they are dead now.