Special Dead (5 page)

Chapter

6

It
was a mid-September Sunday, but the thermometer flirted with eighty degrees. As
Ani and her mother walked, Ani held an umbrella over their heads to keep the
sun off. Her presence scattered the mosquitoes and flies brought out by the
warm weather, leaving her mom bite-free.

“Are you ready for Tuesday?” Sarah asked, kicking
a cobble down the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” Ani said. “My skirt-suit’s in the closet.
Can I borrow your brown flats?”

Her mom frowned. “Don’t you think heels would be
more appropriate? This is the district court, not a classroom.”

Ani bit her lip. “Um, have you ever tried walking
in heels and leg irons?”

Her mom laughed, a rare and wonderful sound. “Okay,
good point. Flats it is.”

To the left of the sidewalk, something white lay
in the grass, overwhelmed by a buzzing cloud of flies. “Remember this isn’t a
trial, but you’ll be under oath. You have to keep your story straight, and—”

“I know, I know. Don’t give details unless I have
to.” Her mom angled off the sidewalk to approach the white thing. “Don’t
mention anything about ZV prior to prom. Claim ignorance on everything Dylan-related.”

“...and shoulder everything research-related onto
Rishi—Colonel Banerjee. I got back into ZV research after the prom.”

The flies scattered as her mom reached down.
Something brown tumbled out of the white thing when she held it up. A Burger King
wrapper, with maggots abandoning ship as fast as they could wriggle.

“Right. I’ve got the timeline down.”

Her mom shook out the wrapper and crushed it in
her fist. “How would this even....” With no garbage can in sight, she stuffed
it into her pocket. “Is your homework done?”

Ani shook her head. “Not yet. I have some math and
government. I’ll do it after dinner.”

“Okay. We should probably get you out of the sun.”

Ani smiled. “More you than me. Sun damage is cured
every night for us dead kids.”

Her mom pursed her lips. “That was quite an
improvement.”

They walked in companionable silence back to the
dormitory.

*  
*   *

“Oh, lovely,” Sam said. “Are they making up their
own commandments now?”

Ani looked across the Zombie Yard to where Teah
sat, fourteen feet and a world away from Bill on the outside. Bill still looked
suspicious in his identity-hiding hat, sunglasses, and coat. Behind the picket,
the crowd was down to fourteen dour jerks with nothing better to do, including
Lydia’s old pastor and the rock-thrower, Jeremy. They had two new signs: “The
Wages of Sin is Death!” and “Thou Shalt not Lie with the Dead!!!”

“I think the exclamation points really make their
point,” Sam said. “They should drive it home with an ‘lol.’”

Joe looked up from his sidewalk drawing and called
out across the yard. “They should have one that says, ‘Anyone who has a better
time than me is going to hell.’”

Lydia smiled. “‘We hate kids with cancer, too!’”

“Will you people shut up?” Devon said. “I’m trying
to study.” She glared at them over her economics textbook.

“How’s your hand?” Lydia asked.

“It’s fine.” She flexed her fingers. “Good as new,
near enough.”

Lydia’s eyes widened. “Does it hurt?”

Devon stared at her until she averted her gaze,
then looked back down at her book.

Ani walked over to Joe. The concrete slab that
once contained a merry-go-round was covered with chalk pictures. Flowers,
people, horses, whales, even Jim Morrison, mouth open wide, out of which flew
the Starship Enterprise.

“Wow,” Ani said. “Did you do all that today?”

He touched up the edge of an orca with blue
pastel. “Nope. I started it last week. Now I’m just adding little details.”

“It’s...incredible, Joe.”
I had no idea you
could do this.
“Too bad it’s going to wash away in the rain.”

Joe smiled up at her, shielding his eyes against
the sun. “I think that’s why it’s my favorite medium. It’s transitory. Like us.
Ugly or beautiful, soon enough chalk art is just washed away.”

I’d never have thought of that
in a million years.

“Especially if you pee on it,” Kyle said from
behind them.

*  
*   *

At lunch, Ani sat with the boys after throwing
away her limp hot dog and four soggy tater tots. Joe broke out a deck of cards
and dealt—euchre, as always. Ani expected Kyle to complain about Mike as a
partner, but he didn’t. Ani wasn’t very good, and neither was Joe. Mike used to
be, and Kyle still was. Maybe he liked the handicap.

They played three games before the bell rang, then
Mr. Benson escorted them up to their room. The blonde woman Ani had seen the
week before stood off to the side, but she wasn’t introduced. Mike said “Hi,”
and she gave him a nod but said nothing. After about an hour of social studies,
“independent reading and writing,” she walked out.

“Who was that?” Kyle asked without raising his
hand.

Mr. Foster giggled. “That was Doctor Freeman, from
Geneseo. She was here observing me.”

“What for?”

“I’m getting my Master’s Degree. She’s observing
my teaching to see how I’m doing.”

Sam leaned over and whispered, “Bullshit. That
lady was an ice queen.”

Miss Pulver admonished Sam with a look but was too
far away to hear her. Devon raised an eyebrow. Sam looked at Ani for support.
Ani shrugged.

“Look,” Sam said. “She wasn’t nervous. No
sweating. No fidgeting. Have you met anyone who’s stuck in a room with us the
first time and isn’t freaking out?”

“Ani’s mom,” Devon said. “Doctor Banerjee.”

Sam shook her head. “They don’t count. After prom,
they’d been dealing with us for weeks, months even, before we came back to
sanity. We just don’t remember.”

Devon grunted. They both looked at Ani.

“I’ll ask Mom.”

They distracted Miss Pulver so Ani could use her
phone. Her mom couldn’t provide any insight but took the time to chide Ani for
texting during class.

Chapter

7

When
Ani got out of the bath at 3:30 am, her mom was up and sporting a gray wool
pantsuit, a dirty-blonde wig that screamed “Hillary Clinton,” and low heels.
Her makeup was a little on the heavy side, but it had been getting heavier for
months so Ani decided not to comment.

No reason to rub it in.

Ani showered the chemicals from her body and put
on her predetermined outfit, a cautious navy skirt and jacket with a cream
blouse underneath. Her mom’s brown flats weren’t flattering but at least she
could walk in them. Ani didn’t bother with a wig or earrings—the bright orange
helmet would destroy any attempts in that direction—but she gave her face as
much of a natural color as she could without looking slutty.
It’s so nice to
wear pink lipstick for a change.
Coordinating it with pink nail polish had
been her idea.

Finally satisfied, she closed her makeup case and
put it in her purse. She strapped on the helmet, turned around, and smiled. “How
do I look?”

Her mom’s brown eyes scanned every inch of her
outfit and makeup, twice. “Sweetie, you look like a teenage girl trying out for
the Bengals. It’s good.” She spritzed a little vanilla perfume. “But try not to
smile too much. Your gums are grayer than they should be, and there’s nothing
we can do about it.”

The butterflies in her stomach were wrestling. “I
don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“Good.” Her mom gave her a curt nod, then smiled
and hugged her. Pushing her back to look in her eyes, Sarah let her smile fade.
“Because we can’t screw this up.”

You mean
I
can’t screw this up.

“Are you ready to go, sweetie?”

“Yup.”

Five minutes later they left the laboratory
compound in the back of a military prison transport painted in green
camouflage. Mr. Clark sat on the hard wooden bench across from them, his open
visor revealing glassy, bloodshot eyes over deep purple bags. Mr. Benson sat
shotgun, and two guards manned the back door. Ani’s grumbling hadn’t stopped
anyone from affixing the chains to her leg irons.

Dr. Banerjee met them as they disembarked in front
of the U.S. Courthouse in Buffalo, a white lab coat over his charcoal-gray suit.
He helped Dr. Romero off the truck but didn’t extend the same courtesy to Ani
or to anyone else. The guards lifted Ani and set her down, then gave her a
moment to untangle her feet from the chain before letting go.

The early morning sun glared off the courthouse
windows. The huge building was a full city block of almost unadorned sandstone
built in the style of New Deal federal buildings everywhere. Ani noted with
pleasure that there were no steps to speak of, so she wouldn’t have to lurch
her manacled way up a staircase in front of all the reporters.

Huh.

“Mom, where are all the reporters?” She’d been
expecting a mob-scene of flashbulbs and yowling microphone-holders.

Dr. Banerjee’s brown, dispassionate eyes held not
the slightest trace of humor. “According to the press release, you arrive at
ten. They’ll be rolling in at nine or so.” He nodded at Mr. Benson who, without
another word, escorted them through a side door into the building.

The inside was as sparse as the outside, with
marble floors trimmed in green and muted scrollwork and walls clad in beige
stone tile. The few people they passed stared with naked fear or revulsion as Mr.
Benson ushered her into a small elevator and up to the seventh floor.

Dr. Banerjee directed them into a wood-paneled
courtroom accented with green marble. Ani’s eyes were drawn to the elaborate
plaster ceiling and the bronze light fixtures, then dropped to the severe, church-like
pews.
Comfy.
The soldiers had already fanned out to the doors and stood
at ease.

Ani sat between her mom and Dr. Banerjee in the
front row behind the plaintiff’s table. They waited. Dr. Banerjee hammered away
at a laptop; her mom worked on her iPad. With nothing else to do, Ani put in
her iPod ear buds and closed her eyes. Used to sleepless eight-hour baths every
night, waiting a few hours was nothing.

Her mother tapped her arm, interrupting The Black
Eyed Peas. Ani opened her eyes to find people trickling in—a few reporters and
court functionaries were the only allowed spectators. She wrapped her
headphones around her iPod and put it in her purse. Her mom moved up next to
their lawyer at the defendant’s table, and Superintendent Salter and Mr.
Kickbush—Sam’s dad—sat with the school lawyer at the opposite table. A few
minutes later the bailiff bade them all rise, and the Honorable Justice
Constance Jones took the bench.

A wizened black woman with gray hair and soft
brown eyes, Justice Jones nonetheless had a regal air. She banged the gavel and
announced that the Romero versus Ohneka Falls appeal was in session. The
opening arguments were long, technical, and boring, and Ani’s mind wandered despite
the gravity of the situation.

If we lose, I burn.

The judge called witnesses, and the lawyers made
their cases. It wasn’t like on TV, because Judge Jones asked most of the
questions, with the lawyers doing follow-up. The morning was a parade of monotonous,
repetitive arguments she’d heard before:  They’re monsters.
No, they’re sick
children.
They’re too dangerous.
Not when properly medicated.
It’s
too expensive.
The school is being reimbursed.

After lunch came Ani’s turn.

“Ani Romero, do you promise to tell the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do,” Ani said
.
The Bible didn’t burn her
cold hand in rebuke for the lie.

She sat in the chair, all eyes on her as Mr.
Benson shackled her into place. The blonde woman from class, Dr. Freeman, sat
in the back next to the reporters but wasn’t taking notes. Ani stared at her a
moment, and she stared back.

Who are you?

“How old are you, child?” Judge Jones asked, drawing
her attention. She had something in her teeth.
Spinach?

“Eighteen.”

“And how long have you been dead?”

Four years.

“I’m not dead. I’ve been sick for a year and a
half.”

Please ignore the lack of
vitals.

“And how did you contract the zombie virus?” The
silence in the courtroom was unnerving.

My real mother was infected on
purpose by Dr. Banerjee’s research team while she was pregnant with me, to see
if ZV was passed on through neonatal contact. Instead of killing me as she was
ordered to, Mom took me home and raised me as her own.

“I’m not sure. I think I was bitten at prom.”

“Bitten by whom?”

Ani shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Judge Jones’ nostrils flared. Ani hoped it wasn’t
doubt.

“And given what happened at prom, do you feel that
it’s safe to be back at school?”

Ani knocked on her helmet and gave one of her
mother’s lines. “Statistically, zombies are safer than disgruntled kids with
guns.”

Now Judge Jones smiled, but it didn’t reach her
eyes. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Ani sighed. “Whatever happened at prom came from
outside the school. It could have happened anywhere. The school’s more secure
now than it’s ever been. We’re not even contagious.” Ani heard a sharp intake
of breath, and looked at her mom, whose eyes were boring into her skull.

It wasn’t a bad comment.

“So you think it’s safe?”

“Yeah, it’s safe.” She tapped the bite guard.

A squeak caught her attention. She turned to see a
bailiff wheeling over a cart. A bucket sat on top, filled with a grayish mass. “We’re
just kids. We’re not danger—” Then the smell hit her, wet and succulent.
Nothing had smell anymore, nothing but....

Oh, God.

Nausea twisted her gut. Her head throbbed as she
tried in vain to tear her eyes from the bucket.
Brains.
The glistening,
gelatinous mass filled her vision and strangled her other thoughts.

“Dangerous,” she said.
Please, no. Not this.
Hunger tore through her. “We’re not dangerous.” A trail of slimy drool pattered
onto her blouse.
I can’t...I want..
. “...Not...”
need....

A moan escaped her lips.

“Miss Romero,” the Judge said. “Can you look at
me, please?”

Her eyes stayed on the bucket, on the quivering
organs. She tried to say something, but she couldn’t remember what it was, and it
came out a wheezing grunt.

“That’s enough!” her mom yelled. Then something
else. It was so hard to think.

She managed to close her eyes and stop breathing.
Better.
Not good, but better.
She reached a shaking hand up through the face mask,
clutched her nose, and squeezed her nostrils shut. She stayed that way for a
moment. Then another.

The world faded back in. She heard the banging
gavel and her mom yelling something about junkies and needles and shame. She
dragged her head up and forced it to turn toward the judge. She willed her eyes
straight.
Not left. Don’t look left.
She opened them.

Judge Jones frowned at her, the gavel hovering in
the air.

Ani swallowed enough drool to speak. “I’m not a
monster. I’m a sick girl. I need—”
Brains!
“—treatment.” She swallowed
again. “Please. Please take that bucket away, and,”
give it to me, please,
oh, pleaseplease,
“let my mom give me a shot.”

The judge stared at her, lips in a tight line. She
gave a curt nod to the policeman. “Bailiff.”

Ani’s eyes followed the bucket until her head was
forced down by a hand on her helmet. The familiar prick as the needle entered
the base of her skull was comforting, and the urge crept back into hiding.

“We’ll take a ten minute recess,” Judge Jones
said. “Doctor Romero, take your daughter home.”

They unlocked her from the witness stand and
escorted her to the same small door through which they’d entered. Before they
walked out, her mom buttoned up Ani’s suit jacket to hide the drool stain on
her blouse. “Keep your head up, but don’t say anything. Smile and wave if you
want to—closed lips. Try not to shuffle, and don’t scowl.”

Ani did her best as reporters mobbed them from the
door to the truck. Back inside, it was just Ani, her mom, and Mr. Clark.

Mr. Clark raised his visor and smiled without
showing his teeth. “You did good in there, kid. That was a mean trick they
pulled.”

Her mom grunted. “Yeah. Mean.”

“Did I do okay?” Ani tried not to sound sheepish.

Her mom patted her knee and put her head on Ani’s
shoulder. “You did fine. Better than I would have under the circumstances.”