After Life (4 page)

“What else is going on?” Madison hated the riddled way Lambert spoke. She was beginning to pay more attention to the tangled phone cord than to her boss, wondering if there was actually a point to this.

“Problems.”

“What kind?”

Lambert’s hands, which had been rolling over each other as he spoke, stopped moving. He pulled them apart and steepled his fingers. His eyes met Madison’s with as much seriousness as he could muster, which, considering the source, was a good deal. “The Z’s kind.”

Madison immediately stopped playing with the cord. The eye contact between Lambert and her held for a moment before she finally continued. “Zombies?” she said.

“You know any other Z’s?”

“What are you saying, Lambert?” As she asked, Madison pushed the call button on her desk to beckon Michelle.

The door opened almost immediately, even before Lambert could continue. He turned back to see who was entering and saw it was Michelle. He looked annoyed, then shrugged and answered. “Calls. People saying they’ve seen things. Across the northeast.”

Madison wanted to roll her eyes, to tell Michelle not to worry, it had been a false alarm, but she caught herself. “Lambert, we get twenty calls like that a day. Hell, I was just on the Web and saw a message board with a hundred new sightings, and that’s not even a special day. People are crazy, paranoid. And who can blame them? It’s probably nothing. If it’s not an aging, delusional baby boomer, it’s a kid pulling a prank. If it’s not a kid pulling a prank, it’s …” Madison paused, hoping to get her message across. Finally, she continued. “What’s different about it now?”

Lambert blew his nose again. “More detail. People who shouldn’t be paranoid. And I haven’t heard from Salvisa.” He coughed twice into his handkerchief, examined the cloth’s contents and scowled. “Times like these I wish the world still carried cell phones. Goddamn antisocial nature everyone has now — can’t talk to someone when you need to.”

Madison shook her head in agreement. “Everyone did it. The fewer people you know, the fewer that’ll come looking for you if they’ve been bitten and want help. Survivalism.”

“You say survivalism; I say scared. Terrified fucking world.” Madison tuned him out as he spoke. A thought had occurred to her. Lambert saw her mind wander and squinted at her. “What is it?”

“The kids.”

“Kids?”

“The colleges. They open tomorrow. Kids have been moving in for days now.”

Lambert blanched. Behind him, Michelle gasped and raised her hand to her mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Lambert said. “All that inexperience in one place. Bet you’re not the first to think of that. Bet that’s why everyone’s so paranoid.”

“So what are you thinking?”

Lambert stood up. “Hell, I don’t know. Best bet is it’s just a lot of bullshit, Salvisa really did blow an artery or something, and people are crazy. But tough to say you’d bet your life on that. Sure as hell wouldn’t bet mine.”

He started walking toward the door, but Madison called him back. “So what do you want us to do?” she asked.

“Calls,” he said, stopping but not turning. “Find Salvisa. Confirm or deny reports of sightings. Figure out what the hell is happening.” With that, Lambert sneezed and plodded out of the room, out of the outer office, and down the hall.

Michelle’s eyes had been wide ever since she entered the room. By now, she looked downright terrified. “They’re back?” she asked, a tremble in her voice.

“No,” Madison said, her voice instantly going from annoyed to soothing. She stood up from her desk and walked quickly to Michelle. “No, they’re not back. All we know is that some crazy old guy hasn’t called Lambert today. If there were anything to worry about, there would be more news than that. This is paranoia. Don’t worry. We’ll find Salvisa, and Lambert will calm down.

“Don’t worry,” Madison said, taking Michelle’s hand, which she could tell was shaking. “Even if something has happened, you won’t go through it alone. You have people that love you. I’m here. And Donnie.”

“Donnie?”

Madison laughed, a chuckle she hoped would keep Michelle calm. “You tell me you don’t know what’s going on with that boy? He’s smitten.”

“Smitten?”

“With you,” Madison nodded. “You ever notice he spends every free minute in here? You ever notice that he wants you to know all his secrets? I could hear him through my door earlier. That boy will do whatever he can to impress you.”

Michelle blushed. She hadn’t noticed anything unusual about Donnie’s actions — he just seemed like a kid trying to be a part of the cool group.

“Anyway,” Madison continued. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Lambert’s just getting worked up because he’s got a cold or something.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure,” Madison said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Chapter 4: Too Careful

Several hours away, on the other side of New England, Morgan College towered over the landscape of Hyannis, Massachusetts. The compound, not yet finished, was an impressive sight. It consisted of three identical twenty-story buildings, laid out in an equilateral triangle. At the tenth floor and again at the twentieth, elevated walkways connected the buildings, giving it the look of a complicated croquet wicket, or an enormous dryer plug. At the triangle’s incenter was a smaller building, shaped something like an outhouse, dwarfed by its taller brethren.

People bustled about in and out of the buildings, a stark contrast to Andy and Celia’s neighborhood. Young adults steamrolled in and out of the buildings, giddily carrying suitcases and purses. Older people, parents presumably, strolled around the compound, their heads and eyes darting about as Andy’s had been in the car.

In the parking lot, Andy’s tan sedan eased to a stop at a convenient space that had just been vacated, leaving the car in the shadow of the closest of the three buildings. Almost before the car stopped, Celia bounded from the vehicle. Purse in hand, she sped up the grassy hill toward the three-building compound.

Andy exited the car more slowly, stretching his legs after the hours-long drive from upstate New York. He took a few steps back. As he did, he nearly collided with a young black man hurrying in the opposite direction. He was about Celia’s age, tall and athletic. He would have been a basketball player in high school. That is, Andy mused, if such a thing existed anymore. His hair was mostly shaved — a result of in-home haircuts. If for no other reason, Andy had wanted a son just so that he could cut his hair in-home — Celia had from the age of 5 demanded her hair would grow longer, which meant haircuts were more complicated. And, Andy dictated, conducted less often.

The young man wore a khaki shirt and cargo pants, looking more prepared for a safari than a move into dormitories. He had a holster on his waistband, and Andy saw that he was armed. He spared Andy almost no glance at all before hurrying up the hill in the same direction as Celia.

Andy laughed and shook his head at the youthful exuberance. Again he stepped back, this time looking upward as well, to capture the entirety of the college campus.

“Impressive, no?” came a voice from behind him.

He turned to see an older black man — 60, probably — who had to have been the younger boy’s father. They had similar builds, similar haircuts. In fact — despite a bit more wrinkles on one and a bit fewer pounds on the other — there was no question they were related. This man too had a full holster on his right hip.

“That it is,” Andy nodded. He gestured to the departing boy’s figure, while he was still in range. “Yours, I take it?”

“Yessir. That’s my boy. Simon.”

“How the hell did they build all this?” Andy said. “Who’s been going outside all the time to work construction? I didn’t even want to go out to drive my daughter here.”

“Most of us have been sitting in, sure,” the man replied. “I know I have. But we can’t all hide out, can we? Electricity, farming, construction — somebody has to have been doing it.”

“I suppose. Did a good job hiding it, though.” He turned back to the other man and stuck his hand out.

“Roger Stone,” the other man said, returning the handshake.

“Where were you?” Andy asked. It was a standard question — any time people who survived 2010 got together, the “Where were you?” question was bandied about more often than “Who are you?” People were curious how others had survived the attack.

“Old bunker,” Roger said. “Left over from the Cold War. Our neighbors were this old couple that stayed paranoid. Never would’ve thought that would come in handy.” He laughed briefly. “What about you?”

“Wish that was my story,” Andy said honestly. “All I can say is luck. Found a couple friendly faces, helped each other out.” At this, Roger turned to face Andy, listening closely. “Almost got caught when it went away. Luck, plain and simple.”

“You were out there the whole time?”

“Pretty much. Holed up whenever I could every now and then, but for the most part I was on the go.”

Roger shook his head. “I don’t care how you went about it. Doesn’t matter in the slightest. Damned impressive is what it is. What’d you say your name is?”

“Andy Ehrens.”

“Well, Andy Ehrens,” Roger said, offering his hand again, “my first handshake clearly wasn’t sufficient, because I want to shake your hand again.”

Andy smiled and returned the man’s handshake. “I suppose I might have had a bit of ability on my side as well.” They both started to follow the way the children had gone. Andy noticed, as he walked toward the dorm, a mother and son combo walking through the area, inspecting doors and windows on the ground floors. She was in her mid-40s, with short curly hair and drab clothing. She had oversized blue earrings dangling from both of her lobes that didn’t jibe with anything else about her appearance. Andy gave them two looks before confirming they were real, but they dangled there every time he blinked. Her son was heavyset not paying as much attention as Andy might have liked. He seemed amazed at the other young people — particularly the young women — who were hurrying around.

As Andy and Roger drew near the woman and her son, he heard her quiz him. “Imagine you’re in a room with one exit and outnumbered by zombies 30 to 1. Do you leave the room and risk the zombies escaping with you?”

The son took a second to prove he was even paying attention before turning and stammering through an answer. “Well… yeah,” he said. “I’d never survive inside.”

His mother shook her head. “You’re right that you’re probably going to die,” she said, “but sometimes that’s the best choice. If it’s a choice of you dying, but the zombies being contained, you choose containment. We aren’t in this for ourselves; we’re in this for all of humanity.”

Andy wasn’t sure he agreed with that sentiment but didn’t say anything to the woman as they passed and entered the foyer of the dorm.

Upstairs, Celia had found her room on the fourteenth floor. She entered and looked around. It was a small room, barely furnished. Two tiny beds and one desk made up the lot of it.

The bed closest to the door was unmade, and a pair of suitcases sat between it and the wall. The closet door to Celia’s left was open, and what had been placed in there was messily piled up.

Celia tossed her purse on the other, clean bed. While the room wasn’t anything fancy, the view was impressive. From this vantage point, she could see the ocean just off in the distance. Eventually, she mused, when everyone had realized the danger was no longer there, she could probably walk down to the beach.

Though her old house was only a couple miles from Cayuga Lake, her father had barely ever let her get so much as in sight of the water. They had been once, when she was 13, and she relished being able to see the ocean whenever she wanted. Celia tried to open the window and found it sealed. Nonetheless, she leaned against it and breathed deeply, imagining sea air filling her lungs.

“Careful, the Z’s might pull you right out there,” someone said behind her.

Celia turned. Standing in the doorway was a short brunette, perhaps a little overweight, but still attractive. She was leaning against the doorframe, her dark hair falling in front of her left eye. She wore a clingy, black sleeveless top and pink sweatpants that were rolled over two or three times at the top, an odd combination Celia wasn’t sure what to make of. To top it off, there was a belted holster around her waist, which didn’t mesh with the sweatpants at all. On her feet she wore a pair of running shoes.

Celia paused. She stared for a moment, not sure what to say. Contact with her peers had been limited, so she hadn’t a clue how to relate to her own age group.

“I’ve… never had a roommate before,” Celia mumbled at last.

“Have any of us?” the other girl said, walking into the room and diving onto Celia’s made bed, messing up the covers. “I’m Stacy.”

“Celia.” She turned back to the window and looked for a moment before remembering Stacy’s earlier comment. “We’re on the fourteenth floor. Think I might be safe. Don’t think there were any Z giants.” She smiled to herself. “You just arriving?”

“Nope,” Stacy said, rolling over and knocking Celia’s purse onto its side, where a few of its contents spilled out. “Been here a few days now. You’re one of the last to show up, I think.” She started picking through the things that had spilled from the purse.

“My dad,” Celia said, “wasn’t a big fan of leaving any earlier than we had to. What are you doing?” Stacy had pulled a tube of chapstick from the pile and was twisting the tip until the contents were all the way out.

“Nothing,” Stacy said, dropping the chapstick back on the bed and getting up. As she did, there was a knock on the still-open door. They both looked to see a 40-something man there holding a clipboard.

“Room check. No boys?” he said with a laugh. He was an attractive guy, with wavy, perfectly coiffed beige hair and large blue eyes. He wore a Morgan College T-shirt that looked new, dark blue jeans and a pair of Velcro sandals. Just below the end of the shirt sleeve, Celia could see the tip of a tattoo. Celia noticed that he didn’t have a weapon on him. “You all must be… Celia and Stacy, yes?” At their nods, he went on. “Which is which?”

Stacy sat down on her bed and inspected her fingernails. “I’m Stacy,” she said.

“Nice to meet you girls,” he said, stepping only a few inches into the room. “Barry Lowensen, resident adviser and Zombie Survival instructor.”

“Zombie Survival?” Stacy asked. “That wasn’t just a rumor?”

“’Fraid not,” he said with a laugh. “Zombie Survival was non-negotiable. We re-open the college; we gotta have the class. Only way Morgan was likely to go along with it. And after we named the school after him and everything. You’d think the guy would have been a bit more appreciative.

“Guess I can’t blame him,” he went on. “I mean, I’m sure your parents have told you some, but doubt they know it all.” Celia felt herself giving an involuntary nod. Stacy, she noticed, didn’t move. “Well, that might not be true for you two ladies, but for most of the kids here. Anyway, you can’t —”

“— be too careful,” Stacy jumped in. Celia continued nodding. “Think we’ve heard
that
before.”

Barry’s chuckle, which hadn’t seemed really to end, picked up steam. “Fair enough. It’s the truth, though.”

“So where are the classrooms?” Celia asked. She felt surprisingly comfortable with the teacher. “This all looks like dorms. Classes in one of the other buildings?”

“No, ma’am,” he responded quickly. “Classes are down.” He pointed at the floor with his clipboard. “Underground. Limited access, food storage, whole nine yards. Dead guys come a-knocking, we go down there, good for months. Not making the same mistakes this time.”

Celia nodded. Stacy turned back to her. “Your parents staying?”

“Staying?”

“Short-term parent housing, third dorm,” the teacher jumped in quickly.

“And it’s a good thing,” Andy said, struggling down the hallway carrying Celia’s three bags. “They didn’t have those, I’d be sleeping out in the hall tonight.”

Celia rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Daddy.”

Barry turned warmly. “Mr. Ehrens,” he said, pulling the lightest of the three bags out from under Andy’s arms and handing it off to Celia. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Barry Lowensen. You and I have a bit in common.”

“What do you mean?” Celia said.

“He means that he and I were both Out-Theres, honey,” Andy said, his eyes not moving from Barry Lowensen.

“Not the most creative name, I admit,” Barry said. “But that’s what Peter Salvisa decided to call us on the ’net. You must know the site. Just about all the Internet is used for anymore, zombies and porn.”

“Never been much for the site, myself,” Andy said. “Guess she gets that from me.” He turned to Celia. “But I did try to tell you, once upon a time. Your dad is something of an online celebrity.” Outside, a horn blew, sounding like an old steam engine. Andy flinched. It wasn’t a sound he was used to. “What was that?”

“It’s time,” Barry said with a grin

“Time for what?” Celia asked.

“Orientation. Down in the classroom.”

“Class
room
?” Celia asked.

“For now,” Barry said, that laugh still in his voice. “More under construction. But for all the space we have, there’s still only 200 or so students, and you’re all starting with the same lessons. Keeping us all together seems more prudent in any case.”

“Listen to him, girls,” Andy said. “You can’t be too careful.”