Brave New Love (22 page)

Underneath the chilly gray November sky, I can almost make believe the world is still alive. Except for the silence. No more traffic, no more humming wires, no more distant voices. Not even
screams and gunshots lately. Just the wind and the last of the rain dripping from the gutters, the soft scrape of my pencil on scavenged cold-press paper.

The shiver comes back, a prickling below my skin. I glance up from my drawing and scan the yard, one hand drifting toward my gun. Nothing inside the perimeter, or on the road . . . There. On the
slope below the house, amid crumbling cement terraces and rusting rebar, the bones of stillborn condos, something moves.

A girl.

She stands there, watching me through the fence. Her stance hits me first—not the dazed sway or wary crouch of the shamblers. She stands hip-shot, one thumb tucked into a pocket of her
tattered jeans. Like a living person. I raise my hand, lips parting to call, when the rest sinks in: her sickly gray pallor, the ugly wound stretching across her right shoulder, blood streaking her
face. My hand falls.

She cocks her head and waves back.

I stand there for a minute, gaping. I swear she grins at me. I’ve never seen a zombie move like that, and it’s too bright out for the nastier things. But the rain evolves. All we can
do is try to keep up.

Footsteps rattle the stairs and before I can second-guess myself I shake my head at her, make a shooing gesture. I don’t trust Seb or Dave not to shoot first and think later. But
it’s only Nick. By the time he climbs up, the girl is gone.

I have a new secret.

Nick isn’t even wearing his gun and I should bitch at him, but I’m too busy trying not to look nervous. It must not work because he says, “Sorry, did I scare you?”

“It’s the quiet. It gets to me after a while.”

He nods. “Do you mind?” he asks, pausing with one foot still on the stairs.

“No, come on up.” I pull my yarn bag out of his way, sneaking a glance at the hill to make sure the girl is still gone.

Nick is a year older than me—he would have started college this year. Tall and skinny and beaky-nosed, with dark hair that’s always flopping in his face. He liked gaming once, and
movies and computers and rock climbing. The sort of boy I would have been friends with. The sort of boy I might have dated. It hurts to hang out with him sometimes, a sharp thorny feeling in my
chest. We all get that pain; it’s called
before
.

We stand in silence, leaning against the crenellations and watching the clouds tatter and drift away, and I wait for the awkward moment to come. Nick’s been trying, in his quiet way, to
ask me out. Not that there’s any
out
left. Don’t get me wrong—he’s cute, and I’m tempted. A lot tempted. I can’t even remember my last kiss. But so much
could go wrong, besides any of the usual relationship messes.

Michelle was six months pregnant when she got caught in a storm. She died slow and screaming for five days before Kayla finally shot her. Nobody talks about it, but we can’t forget. And
even if a baby didn’t kill me from the inside out, who knows what the lingering traces of rain in my blood would do?

I swallow sour spit and turn to collect my sketchpad. My drawing stares up at me—a forest, rough and smudged, thick graphite shadows between the trees and flowering vines dangling from the
branches like spiders.

I flip the sketchbook closed and gather my stuff.

“Audra—” Nick looks so sad, and I know we can’t put the conversation off any longer. “Did I do something? You keep avoiding me . . .” His hair falls over his
long-lashed dark eyes and I want to tuck it back.

“I’m sorry. You haven’t done anything. It’s not you—” Nick snorts, and I can’t finish the sentence. Some lines don’t get any less lame even after
the world ends. “It’s everything.” That’s still horrible, but it’s true.

“Yeah.” He smiles, wry and understanding, and I wonder if maybe I’m being an idiot. “It’s not like either of us could move out if we had a bad breakup.”

“I’m sorry.” I lean in to kiss his cheek, my bag held between us like a shield. The smell of his hair nearly undoes my very limited virtue.

“It’s okay.” He touches my arm awkwardly. “I’ll see you around, anyway.”

We laugh, but it’s strained. My eyes are blurring by the time I get back inside. I blame hormones.

•  •  •

I’m restless all day, picking up a dozen projects and setting them down again. Finally I put my leathers on and take another walk around the perimeter. What I’d
really like is to walk outside, down Castle Hill and through the broken streets, a different view to clear my head. But outside is too dangerous alone.

I feel a shiver at the northeast corner. To the north lies an overgrown driveway and the broken remnants of a house nearly consumed by trees and brambles. East faces downtown, and slabs of
broken, weed-choked cement below the fence. I can’t see anything but a few birds moving in the trees and the leaves sighing in the breeze. I glance back, but I’m alone in the yard; the
turret is empty.

Leaves crunch, a single deliberate footstep. I spin, hand dropping to my gun.

The girl. She stands at the bottom of the terraced wall, watching me through the fence. When I flinch, she shows me her empty hands, slowly and carefully as if I were the one who might bite.

She’s my age. Was my age. Dressed in dirty jeans and a tank top, thick black hair pulled back in a braid. Her skin must have been a warm golden-brown once, a shade or two darker than mine.
Now it’s cold and gray. The wound I saw this morning is still there, a nasty gash on her shoulder, skin flapping to expose raw flesh. No blood or infection, just dark red meat and pale
marbled fat. Her eyes are wide and shadowed under thick, arching brows.

Her eyes are red. Not zombie eyes, bloodshot and clouded, but clear and bright, carmine and carnelian.

My breath catches. “I saw you—”

She raises her eyebrows, living movement on a dead face. “This morning, yeah.” Her voice is soft and raspy, but human. She draws breath to speak; she wasn’t breathing
before.

“No. I saw you in a dream.”

She smiles, flashing white teeth. “That’s romantic, but we’re taking things a little fast, don’t you think? I don’t even know your name.”

My face goes hot. Zombies don’t smile like that. They don’t tease. Even the other things, the ones that prowl outside camps at night, crying and wailing like lost children—even
they don’t
flirt.

“You’re different,” I whisper, mostly to myself.

Her smile widens; her eyeteeth are thick and sharp. “And you haven’t shot me yet, so maybe you’re different too.”

“What are you?” I flush again, hotter this time. I’ve shot dozens of monsters, but that was just rude. “I’m sorry. I mean—”

The dead girl laughs at me. “I’m Natalie.” She presses one palm against the fence.

“Audra.” I squat down so we’re closer, but don’t touch her hand. I may be going crazy, but I’m not stupid. “What are you doing out there?”

“The same thing you’re doing in there: surviving.”

“Are you . . . hungry?”

“All the time.” Her smile twists and falls away. “But I don’t eat what you eat anymore.”

I was afraid she’d say that. “You’re hurt.” Which sounds stupid, considering she’s dead, but that cut makes my skin crawl to look at.

“This?” She pokes at the skin flap and I cringe. “It doesn’t hurt, really. Sort of itches. I have to keep the bugs out, though.” She grimaces, which is
terrifying.

“I should go,” I say, my mouth dry. “Don’t—Don’t talk to any of the others. They might not—”

“Care that I’m different?”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “Not your fault. Thanks for not shooting me.”

“I—You’re welcome.” This isn’t the strangest conversation I’ve had since the world ended, but it’s close. “What are you going to do?”

Natalie takes a step back. “I’m going north.” My mouth falls open, and she pauses. “You dreamed of that, too, didn’t you?”

Before I can answer someone calls my name. I turn to see Geoff halfway across the yard. When I look back Natalie is gone.

“What is it?” Geoff asks as I hurry to meet him. Trying not to act like I’m hurrying.

“A cat. He looked healthy but he ran away.”

Geoff frowns sympathetically. His shirt is soaked, and stray soapsuds cling in the black cloud of his hair. “Sorry Aud. You know we can’t have pets.”

“I know. I just miss my old cat.”

He pats my shoulder. “Yeah. Get your laundry, kiddo. We don’t want to stink for our guests.”

I don’t look back as we go inside. I don’t open my window. But when I dream that night, I dream of red eyes.

•  •  •

The others arrive before noon the next day. I stand on the turret with Nick and Amber to watch them ride in, waving the blue flag that means all clear.

It’s hard to look tough riding bicycles, but Las Calaveras manage in their chains and painted jackets. The Spooks pedal up the hill behind them, dressed all in black, as usual. We laugh
about the colors sometimes, but I have to admit they look pretty impressive.

Las Calaveras sent six people this time, the Spooks five, putting the temporary population of the castle at eighteen. Nearly ten percent of the city’s current population. Math didn’t
use to depress me this much.

Gang-meet means presents. Our guests bring cookies, tortillas still warm in an insulated bag, two bottles of wine, a bag of yarn, two ten-packs of AA batteries, and a fancy set of knives. We
give them fresh vegetables, a leather jacket, a fountain pen with an extra nib and a bottle of ink, a pair of blankets that Kayla and I knitted, and a zombie teddy bear still in the original box.
Maybe that shouldn’t be funny, but I think it’s pretty cute. Cat, the head Spook, coos at it like it was a baby and hugs Kayla. We’ve run out of so many things, but Cat never
seems to run out of eyeliner or hair dye. There’s lots of hugging and “You look good!” and manly handshakes between the guys.

Usually we draw straws to see who attends the meeting and who keeps watch, but today is different. Marisela, the leader of Las Calaveras, asks all the girls to join them, and the guys to wait
outside. Geoff frowns and Nick raises his eyebrows, but no one argues with her—she makes the tortillas. I sit in the back next to Amber, trying not to feel like I have “Fraternized with
the enemy” written across my forehead.

“Lupe had her baby,” Marisela tells us, after we’ve settled in the kitchen and coffee and cookies have been shared. “A boy. She named him Carlos, after his father.”
Carlos Senior died six months ago, so the congratulations are a little sad. Marisela accepts them like a proud grandmother. She’s not even forty, but her brown face is seamed, her hair
already gray.

“That brings us to my main concern,” she continues. “I’ve discussed it a little with Cat, but it affects everyone. We need children, or we’ll never
rebuild.”

I shiver, despite the body heat filling the kitchen. Beside me, Amber does too. The idea makes my stomach sour. She wouldn’t say that if she’d seen Michelle. Or maybe she would.
Marisela’s seen her share of terrible things. She had a daughter,
before.
I don’t know what happened and, besides, the thing is, she’s right.

“We’d need more resources for children,” Kayla says. “Better security.”

Marisela nods. “My people are already working on it, for Carlos. Children will make these things happen. It’s too easy to put it off, to say
maybe next year.
And then a dozen
next years have passed and half of us are dead. If we want to survive here, to build, it has to happen.”

Kayla doesn’t answer for a minute, and her shoulders sag. “I’ve tried. Me and Geoff, I mean. For the past six months. I know that’s not very long, but . . . I have
tried.”

I lean back at the news, frowning. Amber startles. Nice to know I’m not the only Orphan with secrets.

Marisela nods, her dark eyes creasing with sympathy. “Give it time. It’s not only your burden.” She looks around the room, and I try not to duck when her gaze touches me.

“It shouldn’t be anyone’s burden,” Kayla says, catching that glance. “I want a baby. Amber doesn’t, and Audra is too young.”

Amber’s never talked about children one way or another, but I know what Kayla really means. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the way Amber shuts down when the storms get
bad—she’s the most fragile of all of us that way, and I doubt a baby would help. Especially after Michelle.

“I don’t want a baby either,” Cat says, picking at her nail polish. “Never did. But Mari’s right—we have to do it, or Austin will be empty in twenty
years.” She nods to one of her companions, a skinny girl not much older than I am. “Angel is willing to try.”

Marisela looks back to me, and I want to crawl through the wall. “How old are you, Audra?”

I swallow a stray cookie crumb scraping down my throat. “Seventeen next month.”

Marisela frowns and nods. “Young, but not too young to consider it.”

Kayla scowls. “You can’t make—”

“Of course not. But I can ask. And you can think about it. Which leads me to my other idea. We should consider an exchange of members. One or two people, for a few months a time. So we
could learn new skills, make new friends.”

Meet new people we might want to have babies with. My stomach is sick with the weight of sugar and caffeine. I have a dozen excuses to say no. I’m too young. There’s no one I like
that much. I’m terrified of the idea. But I can never share the real reason—the red seed inside me.

“We’ll think about it,” Kayla says, her lips pinched. “Any other news?”

Cat sits up straight. “We’ve seen a couple of scavengers creeping around downtown. The human kind. We’ve tried talking, but they run. I don’t know if they’re crazy
or dangerous or just scared, but keep your eyes open.”

“I have a question,” I say, before the meeting ends and turns into socializing and dinner. All eyes turn to me and my cheeks scald. “I—Some of you know that I . . . feel
things, right?” The last word comes out a squeak. I may be effectively proving that I’m too young for anything. Marisela and Cat nod. Kayla frowns, but gestures for me to go on. I take
a deep breath, forcing the rest out in a rush.