Last Rites (15 page)

Ken was waiting for her at the curb. “Hi, Ken.”

“Hey, Rachel.” He and Shayna were so darned good-looking—thick and muscled, both of them, except he was so tall, and she was as short as Rachel. He had such a deep, sexy voice, too, and so polite. That card game they’d taught them had been fun. Nice to do something with other people for a change. They even had some beer, and peanuts. Rachel had never had the former, and she hadn’t tasted the latter in years. The cold, bitter liquid and the salty, slightly greasy nuts had made her feel satisfied, full, and warm. That had been a good evening, the best in a long time.

They started walking down the street. “We had fun the other night,” Rachel said to make small talk.

“Yeah, us too.” It was easy talking to him. He’d look you over, but not in a nasty, predatory way—just appreciative. It felt good. “Sorry the baby woke up and we had to call it a night early.”

“No, that’s fine. She’s so cute!” You had to say that to parents, of course, but in this case it was true. The kid was gorgeous, alert, always laughing.

“Thanks. I think she liked both of you. You and Will trying to have kids?”

“Yes, but—” Rachel hadn’t reckoned with this. She’d never talked about it, really. She thought of skipping it, but Ken seemed kind and sympathetic enough maybe she could. “We—I had a baby and lost it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Like the kid comment, you kind of had to say that, but he made it sound better than that. The brief touch to her shoulder as they walked was sincere and compassionate too, and didn’t seem awkward or aggressive, like it might with other guys. “That happened to us, too. Really hard. Maybe you can talk about it with Shayna, if you feel like it.”

“Yeah, maybe. Thanks.”

“Was yours far enough along that you had to put it down after? That was the really hard part for us. I mean, they let us do it ourselves, or they would’ve done it for us at the hospital, but I think it’s hard either way for parents.”

“I know.” As much as Ken put her at ease, this was dicey. Here in New Sparta they clearly didn’t keep people penned up after they died, so telling them her baby was locked up with other dead people back where they came from—that was going to be a hard concept to introduce this morning. It also made her look at Ken differently, at his big hands and his biceps stretching the fabric of his t-shirt. What had he done? Smashed it with a mallet? Driven a spike into its head? Set it on fire? He seemed so gentle, how could he do such a thing to his own child?

“We didn’t have to do that, thank God,” she finally said. Things were just done different here, and she had to accept that. She also had to try not to stick out as some freakish hillbilly.

“Good. You were lucky. I know things were hard for us for a long time after that. I wasn’t sure we were going to stay together. Don’t tell her I told you about that part, if you talk to her about it.”

“I won’t. I understand.” That voice and soothing demeanor had pushed the image of him killing his child out of her mind, thankfully, and she could again enjoy his company.

“We couldn’t stop worrying and fighting when she was pregnant again, but then Aisha was born and things got back on track. I know the same will happen with you and Will. You’re both good people. It’ll work out.”

“Thanks. You’re so sweet to say that.” It was hard not to be flirtatious with him, and it was all so natural and harmless anyway.

“No, I mean it. You’ll see. First we got to get you to work, so you can afford a family.” He laughed and they walked a bit faster.

They went by the employment office Rachel had gone to yesterday, and Will the day before. Rachel smiled to think of Will’s description of it, like it was some office of zombies or robots out to steal his soul. God, why did he get so worked up over people and authority? They were easy enough to work around. Sure, the place was too clean and cold and impersonal, but you just had to watch yourself, and size up the person you were talking to. Hell, she’d gotten along well enough with Julia to make things work—she figured she could handle some people who filled out forms and filed them. They were harmless enough, and if it meant the electricity and gas and television and phone all ran the way they were supposed to, then it was worth a few minutes of her time, putting on a mask and answering some dumb questions.

They kept walking, Ken pointing out some of the other buildings—theater, restaurants, shops. When Ken noted Shayna’s favorite hair salon—Rachel hadn’t even heard that phrase since she was a kid—he let his gaze wander over Rachel’s big mane of red curls. If it were Julia pointing out the store, the glance would’ve implied some negative evaluation of Rachel. If it had been another guy, it probably would’ve looked too lecherous. But this seemed like neither, and Rachel could smile back and think that some styling sounded like a good idea.

They got to the end of one street where there were lots of construction vehicles. Rachel saw the city wall now, though at this point there was a big, ragged gap in it that men and machines passed in and out of. Besides the loaders and trucks and cement mixers, there was a military-looking vehicle, a Humvee with a man standing in the back at a machine gun. Another man with a rifle stood next to the vehicle.

Ken introduced Rachel to the foreman of the construction site, a middle-aged white guy named Joe. Rachel had to produce some papers she’d been given at the employment office, which Joe examined between glances at her chest. His checking her out wasn’t quite as discreet as Ken’s, but it wasn’t too bad by guy standards, either. He was up to ogling, not quite all the way to leering, and she could stand that easily enough. He went in a trailer and emerged with some keys, using them to point at a Bobcat track loader.

“You drive one of those, darlin’?” Again, not too bad—not “babe” at least.

“Of course.” Those things were a blast to drive, in fact. Rachel could remember when she’d been little and seen two of them at the state fair, digging a huge hole and filling it back up, over and over, for the two weeks the fair went on. She’d never been a tomboy, except in that one respect, and she’d stand there in a dress and ponytails, watching those two Bobcats tearing around, rather than go look at ducks and bunnies and other things at the fair.

“Good. Drive it on down there, past that telephone pole. Ronnie’s down there—he’ll tell you where to start. We’re still working on leveling the ground there.” Rachel doubted he worked on much of anything, but guessed that’s how bosses talked here. Again, you had to adapt.

Joe tossed her the keys. Rachel waved to Ken as he walked off to another part of the construction site and she got into the vehicle. As the engine roared to life and the whole machine shook underneath and around her, she thought this wasn’t going to be bad at all—hauling around in this all day, then relaxing with Will each night, eating good food, talking and playing games with Ken and Shayna. This was definitely a great place.

Truman’s fingers clenched the wire and bars of his cage as he tensed for the attack he felt sure was coming. But as Dalia stepped around the tent flap, Truman relaxed. Not even these people here could be so perverse as to bring a child along, if they planned to do the things Truman had feared. No, his anxiety must’ve been unfounded, at least for now.

Doctor Jack and Dalia paused in the doorway to let their eyes adjust to the dimness inside the tent. He was wearing his grey suit again, while the girl wore another simple dress—this one white. She had on the same boots, and she’d found another white ribbon so her two pigtails matched this time. She pulled a red metal wagon behind her. Truman couldn’t quite see what was inside it.

Doctor Jack looked around and breathed deeply through his nose. “Ah,” he said. “That’s about the only nice thing about dead folks—they don’t smell much after a while. That, or you get used to it. I’m not sure. But it wasn’t that way, back when we had more animals in the carnival—always shoveling their shit and things always stinking so badly, especially in the summer. Oh, that was awful.”

Doctor Jack took a few steps closer, glancing over at Lou and Ramona. The large dead man had gotten up when the two live people entered, but Ramona remained sitting on a lopsided wicker chair, its high, rounded back rising above her head like a crown or those things above saints in religious paintings; Truman couldn’t remember the name of those. Ramona just stared over the visitors’ heads, thinking of something pleasant or horrible from years or decades ago—her face was too impassive for Truman to guess.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, Dalia,” Doctor Jack continued, turning his attention to Truman. “I still hate ‘em, deep down. No sir, I can’t abide zombies. They ruin everything. There used to be so many different kinds of people: young ones, old ones, black, white—all wanting different stuff.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Truman. “Then they just turned into
this
. Can’t buy stuff. Can’t do anything. Heck—teach ‘em a few tricks is the best I can do, to bring in some folks and their money.” He brought down his finger, then raised his hand to run it across his bald head and through his thinning hair. He sighed so long and deep that Truman could almost feel sorry for him, if he hadn’t just tried to heap all his shortcomings and disappointments on Truman. “Some days it doesn’t hardly seem worth it. Just should go try a new line of work.”

Dalia peered around her companion, smiling first at Truman, then up at Doctor Jack. “Oh, stop, Doctor Jack,” she said. “I think they’re nice, most of the time, just like real people.”

She dropped the wagon’s handle and came closer. “Hi, mister!” she said to Lou. He raised his head and gave a wheeze. Truman couldn’t say the man’s face lit up—that really didn’t look possible anymore—but he was clearly happy to see the little girl.

“Hi, Miss Ramona!” Dalia said, turning to the other side. The thin dead woman brought her gaze down and nodded just a bit, then returned to staring at some spot on the tent’s ceiling that only she found interesting.

Doctor Jack put his hand on Dalia’s shoulder. “You’re too trusting, dear,” he said. “You people, of all folks, ought to know better. You got to be hard. You try too much to see the good in folks, and it’s just not right. You got to just size ‘em up—figure out what you can get from ‘em, how to get over on ‘em. That’s how a person survives. Your momma knows that: works hard in the fields when it’s time, comes back here to work at night, to make some money for you and her. Does real good, too, ‘cause she knows how people are, knows what men want. She’s smart. But we got to get you up to speed, darling, or you’re gonna turn into some holy roller or something.” He chuckled. “Not that there’s anything wrong with religion, mind you: you just got to know when to use that, too, and not let it get all out of hand.” He patted her head, the affection of the gesture only partly tarnished by the ugliness and cynicism of his words.

Up came the finger again—not accusatory this time, but pointing Truman out in a demeaning way, making him want to cringe or hide. “You listen up, Dalia. You look at this one. Skinny, not much left on his old bones. Cage will hold him fine. But you see over there? Two locks on the door. He’d watch me dial up the combination on the one, if I weren’t careful. He might even figure out how to pick the other one with a piece of wire or something. So two locks for this one.”

The living man stepped closer to Truman, drawing aside the jacket of his suit to show a small revolver in a holster at his hip. “He knows what this is, too, and he knows why I’m showing it to him. Now, mister, do we understand each other? Are you gonna mind this fine young lady and try to learn what she’s showing you?”

Truman looked over at Dalia, who smiled at him again. He nodded.

Doctor Jack let his jacket fall back in place. “Good. Now, Dalia, you keep an eye on this one. I think he’ll make a good show, but I don’t know. I kinda have a bad feeling about him, like he’s up to something. I paid good money for him, but if he does anything funny, you come running and tell me.” He looked over at Lou, and then Ramona. “That goes for you two as well, though I figure you both know to behave by now.”

Dalia picked the handle of the wagon back up and patted the man’s arm. “Don’t worry, Doctor Jack,” she said. “I think he’ll be fine and we’ll have a good time.”

“All right. We’ll see.”

When Doctor Jack had left, Dalia came closer to Truman’s cage, hauling her wagon with her. Truman could now see it was full of large, paperback books. She leaned closer to Truman, squinting at him. “What’re we gonna call you?” she asked.

As charming as Truman found the little girl, he heeded Ramona’s warning not to talk around the living, so he just stared back at her.

Dalia reached into the wagon and held out one of the books to him. “Can you read any?” she asked.

Truman considered how to answer that, then nodded as he took the book.

The girl beamed. “I just knew you could, as soon as I saw you. Those men who brought you in—they didn’t see you the way I do. Some people just look, but I see things. Not even Doctor Jack sees everything the way I do.” She lowered her voice. “But he does see a lot. He sees something in you and he doesn’t like it.” She raised her voice again and laughed. “But I do!”

Truman looked at the book in his hands. It was some kind of book for helping people study for a test. Page after page was full of multiple choice questions.

He jumped a bit when Dalia’s hand shot between the bars and grabbed the book. “Don’t look in the back!” she said. “The answers are in the back!”

Truman put his hand on hers, caressing the back of her hand. She didn’t flinch or pull back. Perhaps Doctor Jack was right and she was too trusting, though Truman was grateful he could relish the touch of her. In the last few nights, sometimes he and Ramona would both lean their backs against his cage, and he could feel her pressed against him. But with living people it was always different—something so fragile yet powerful about them, something so warm and terrifying. With Dalia the overweening, frightening part of life was almost imperceptible and there was only a sweet, delicious presence. The whole time he felt her hand, she only smiled up at him.