This Plague of Days, Season Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Serial) (2 page)

The teacher smiled and nodded sagely and told her that was “merely Jaimie’s tactile fixation. Notice how he always has his hand on the page, as if he’s caressing the words? That doesn’t connote comprehension. Be glad he doesn’t fixate on other things, like feeling his food or something.”
 

Brandy hugged Jack kindly and sat her at the kitchen table. “Darlin’, autism or Asperger’s…it’s just a label. What’s a label going to do for Jaimie? Let’s take this one day at a time and see if your little boy comes out of his shell one day.”

The “one day at a time” comment raised Jacks’ hackles. More talk like Jaimie’s weirdness was some kind of addictive behavior instead of tangles in the wiring of her son’s brain. “This is more than a little case of shyness, Brandy.”
 

“Of course, and labels will get Jaimie the help he needs in the school system. But don’t make labels your life or his. Labels are limits.”

“I think Wittgenstein said something like that. ‘When you label me, you limit me.’”

“I was quoting Oprah. Who are you talking about?”

“Never mind.”

“Jack, my point is, I don’t worry about what I can’t control and you shouldn’t, either. My mother labels me irresponsible because I don’t pay my credit cards off each month. She told me she’ll start respecting me when I have a job where I can pay all my bills.”

“Nobody I know pays off the whole bill anymore,” Jack said. “What’d you tell her?”

“That respect isn’t something you hold out until I do something you want me to do that’s none of your business. It’s easy to give somebody their propers once they’ve already made it. Everybody loves the rich, famous success story. Give me my due before I’m rich and famous, girl! Do that and you might impress me. I hung up on that bitch.”

Jack remembered that story well. It was her first genuine laugh since her son’s diagnosis. The doctors were careful to call their findings tentative. They talked about “heavy tendencies” and, since selective mutism is a cardinal sign of anxiety, not autism, the experts disagreed. His interest in words was useless to a selective mute, they pointed out, but all agreed Jaimie was “an unusual and fascinating case.”

They said that like it helped. They said it as if her son’s disability was somehow about them and their ghoulish fascinations. “No matter how much I love Jaimie, no mother wants a fascinating case for a son,” Jack told Brandy bitterly.

Over time, Jack granted that her husband’s delusions about their son weren’t, perhaps, so grandiose. Jaimie had spoken more since the Sutr virus struck than he had in the past year, maybe two. Still, his unexpected pronouncements unnerved her. Jaimie had a knack for non sequiturs that weren’t exactly non sequiturs. His tiny scraps of commentary — garbled telegraphy — hinted that he had been paying attention to everything, after all.
 

Sometimes those surprising hints at lucidity made Jack go cold. She wondered what hurtful jokes or dark complaints she might have let slip in front of her son? Had Jaimie understood? It was like going to the bathroom in front of a pet and suddenly discovering your beagle can talk and has some thoughts to share.

But maybe Jaimie’s tiny bit of progress was gone. Since their home had exploded, most of the time Jaimie stared at his dictionaries. Sometimes he stared at his hands, squeezing them to fists and relaxing them, watching for…what?

The stench grew worse. Jack took a deep breath through her mouth and moved forward, deeper into Brandy’s home.

W
E
COUNT
EVERY
COST
,
EACH
RUEFUL
DAY

D
r. Craig Sinjin-Smythe watched the little girls sleep, one on either side of Aadi Vermer. They snuggled under one big blanket, tight to their father’s warmth. The North Atlantic rocked the trio as the boat sliced west.

The virologist had read that great losses, if suffered early in life, were better endured. He suspected he was long past the age he could dismiss all that was lost. Perhaps these little girls would forget what they had seen along the Thames. And for all that was lost? They could not miss what they had never known.

But maybe that was just something people said. It sounded wise until he considered that his baby was alive in Ava’s womb. He ached for the child and the waiting world.

Sinjin-Smythe left Aadi with his daughters and climbed above deck. He couldn’t bear to look at the sleeping father with his children anymore.

Dr. Neil McInerney stood at the wheel of the
Shepherd of Myddvai
. Since his wife had been taken by the infected, the dentist rarely left his post. He refused to look at Aadi. McInerney watched the sea, the compass and the sails.

Dayo stood at McInerney’s side. She turned to greet Sinjin-Smythe. “That’s the southern coast of Ireland off to the right!” Despite the cold wind and the ugly circumstances of their escape from London, Dayo’s smile was broad.
 

McInerney grunted. “Starboard. Right is starboard. Left is port.”

Dayo rolled her eyes but said, “Yes, Captain.”

Sinjin-Smythe pulled up the collar on the jacket he’d borrowed and stepped close to McInerney. “How much longer?”

“Another few hours to Cork. We can load up on supplies there.”

“Cork’s too big. Big is dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Big means…more contagion, more infected people coming at us.”

“So what’s my course?”

Sinjin-Smythe peered over McInerney’s shoulder at the little map pinned under glass by the wheel. He tapped the glass. “There! Make for Dungarvan.”

“Why there?”

“Its bay is too shallow for big ships. Shiva couldn’t have put any of the infected ashore there, I don’t think.”

“How do you know?” Dayo asked. “Are you some sort of genius about everything?”

Sinjin-Smythe gave a bitter laugh. “Not at all. About some things I’m terribly stupid, but Dungarvan is a beach resort. I went on vacation there with the woman who was to be my wife. She asked me to move in with her on the beach at midnight. I was stupid enough to agree.”

“Where is she now?”

“I understand she’s leading an army. She’s on a ship somewhere out there, beyond the barricade. She said we’d meet again.”

McInerney huffed. “And you believed her?”

“I know her…or at least I thought I knew her. But knowing what I do now? It makes sense. I should have known it on the beach in Dungarvan. She didn’t really ask. She told me I was moving in with her.” He shrugged. “It would take a different kind of man to say no to Ava. She didn’t hear the word ‘no’ a lot from anyone.”

Dayo patted him on the shoulder and went below to the warmth of the cramped cabin.

“Dr. Sinjin-Smythe,” McInerney said. “I have questions.”

“I thought you might.”

“Why did you call me for this? You barely know me and I don’t even remember working on you.”

“Two cavities last autumn. You told your assistant to demonstrate proper flossing technique for me. As if I didn’t know how to floss.”

“Doesn’t ring a ding,” McInerney said. “I told people that several times an hour.”

Sinjin-Smythe gave a lopsided grin. “You looked at me as if I was the only person on Earth who had missed the memo about the wisdom of flossing.”

McInerney tore his gaze from the horizon and stared, his heavy gray eyebrows knit over eyes burning with anger. “I asked why me? Why us? My wife and I were safe in our flat. If you hadn’t — ”

“You had a boat. That’s all. I didn’t know anyone else with a boat. I remembered the picture of your boat on the office wall when you did my fillings.”

McInerney cursed. “How long have you known about those zombie things?”

“Not long.”

“Long enough to warn everyone? You’re a virologist. How many people could you have saved if you’d run to the BBC instead of breaking into my office and calling me and my wife out of our warm bed? Calling us out from behind locked doors!”

It was Sinjin-Smythe’s turn to search the horizon. He found no answers there so he answered a question the dentist had not asked. “If you’d stayed in London, you’d be dead. As soon as the food ran out, you’d have to go outside and then you’d be dead.”

“And I would have had another few days with my Sheila.You took those decisions out of our hands. Always, remember, doctor. When London fell, all you were thinking of was saving your own skin. You’re a coward.”

Sinjin-Smythe said nothing. Finally, he nodded. “I’m sorry. If there’d been more time and more options, I might have laid out your choices more clearly.”

“Might have?”

“Probably not. I’m a coward. That’s why I’m still alive.”

McInerney’s eyes narrowed. “What did she say on the phone?”

“Who?”

“I saw you out by the rail. You were going to swim ashore and let those things take you. And I was going to let you. You had one foot up on the rail and then your phone rang. You talked a long time. Now you’re full of business and bound for America again. It was her, wasn’t it?”

“She goes by Shiva now. It’s — ”
 

“I know what Shiva is, you idiot. Whatever you’ve got in that bag…you think you’ve got anything in there that can actually cure this madness?”

“Maybe I can make a difference.”

“For those little ones below?”

“No,” Sinjin-Smythe replied. “For my little one. Shiva’s got a hostage.”

“What’s her plan?”

“She’s taking the Sutr-Z infection to America. She’ll attack New York first. She’ll do to it what she did to London.”

“Why would she tell you that?”

“Because that’s where I’m supposed to meet her.”

B
UT
KNOWING
WILL
NOT
LESSEN
THE
SURPRISE

T
he first bedroom on the left was Ben’s room. Jack had helped Brandy paint it while Ben was away at camp. Ben had just turned twelve and complained the clown wallpaper was “babyish”. Jack and Brandy had scraped off the wallpaper and painted it bright green as a surprise. The work was a chore, but Brandy kept the pizza and champagne coming and the friends had laughed like schoolgirls.

Ben grew into a handsome, charming and confident young man. He was Anna’s first date. However, as they moved through high school, they attended separate classes and their groups of friends didn’t mesh. Anna’s first crush fell apart. After the breakup, Anna kept her bedroom door closed all the time.
 

Jack had asked Brandy how it ended, but Brandy could only shrug. When pressed, she told Jack it was impolite to gossip about failed romances between families. “The world’s full of people to pick apart. Let’s not talk about our kids.”

Jack had suspected that Ben had dumped Anna because, as sweet as Anna could be, she could also be a demanding princess.
 

“I wish you could see Anna now, Ben,” Jack told the empty room. The crisis had matured Anna. She didn’t act nearly so spoiled as she once had.
 

A broken thermometer lay on the floor by Ben’s empty bed. It looked like it had been stepped on. The sheets were soiled and brown.

Jack moved down the hall and held her breath before opening the next door. Brandy’s bedroom was in as much disarray as the rest of the house. It was impossible to deduce anything from the chaos.

Jack knew Brandy wasn’t there before she called out, but the sound of her own voice was a small comfort. “Brandy? It’s Jack! We’re getting out of here. We think we know a safe place. Come with us! Brandy…it’s me! I need you.” Hot tears slid down her cheeks.
 

The light was dimmest at the end of the hall. Jack’s heart pounded faster. The smell was strongest here and she took shallow breaths through her mouth.
 

The linen closet had been emptied, the door ripped from its hinges. The door lay on the floor and Jack had to step on it to peer into the bathroom.

Weak daylight outlined the bathroom door, which stood slightly ajar. Jack pushed gently. It didn’t budge. She pushed harder. Nothing. Her breath wheezed fast in and out.

Jack was sure Brandy was dead. She should run back to the van. How long had it been since she entered the house? Two minutes? Five? What if she ran out now and found the lieutenant waiting for her, his pistol to Anna’s head?

One bad investment after another,
she thought. At the mall she had gained a couple of road atlases, hiking boots and a handful of plastic bags. What could she gain here except to satisfy sick curiosity?

But Brandy was her best friend. She had to
know
what happened.

Jack held her breath and leaned all her weight against the door. It opened just enough for her to press her head into the opening.
 

The body against the door had been Brandy’s first husband, Tom. His eyes were open, staring through her into forever. By the look on his sagging face, his death had taken him by surprise. A wide, straight gash crossed his throat. The floor was dark with dried blood. Brandy’s bathroom tile had been bone white, but a stranger couldn’t have guessed that now.
 

Brandy was in the bathtub. Her clothes were torn. One perfect cold breast was exposed. A long kitchen knife, the blade the same color as the floor, lay on the edge of the tub. In the light that shone through the frosted glass above the tub, Jack could see that Brandy had bled out. She was drained, almost marble white.
 

Jack could see the knife wound down her friend’s right arm. It stretched from elbow to wrist. Brandy’s eyes were closed. Eventually she had gone to sleep, but the wait must have been…what? Excruciating? Or had there been euphoria? Had it been a relief?

Jack pulled back, dropped to her knees and threw up on the closet door. She should run. She should jump in the van and go and go. That was the plan she had laid out the night before: leave the nightmares behind. Jack got up, steadied herself against the wall and made for the front door.