Dearly, Beloved (19 page)

Michael let me go, bowed, and staggered out into the night. His blue carriage was parked outside, and no driver seemed to await him. For a minute I thought about calling him back, taking his keys from him—but then I recalled his hands on me, and I stopped caring. Instead I shut the door and sank to the gleaming
marble floor, gripping my head in my hands. I desperately wanted to unsee what I’d just seen. Not just the finger. Michael.

I should tell someone what he’d done.

I also knew that to do so would be pointless.

He was right. He would win. I’d be labeled a slut for having a boy in my house, unchaperoned; my reputation would be sullied. His actions, on the other hand, would earn a collective shrug. Even I, had he submitted everything he’d just said more soberly, would have shrugged. I didn’t care if a random dead man died or lost a finger or two. And no one would believe he was scheming, dreaming grand, violent dreams—because I certainly didn’t. The Murder? Please. Most boys I knew could barely dress themselves, much less organize an anti-zombie conspiracy.

I forced myself to think logically. Liquor obviously made him act completely out of character. He and his fellows were just playing rough and drinking too much. Probably just beat up a passing dead man on the street. That’s all. Such things had become commonplace since December.

Yes. That had to be it.

I returned to my room.

This time, I locked the door.

Late Friday night, I approached Samedi about helping Dog.

He and Beryl were in the study, as usual. The opulent, woodpaneled space was now overrun by power cords, computers, crates, and stainless steel machinery. Beryl was seated on Dr. Dearly’s desk, listlessly bobbing a tea bag in and out of a mug. Samedi stood beside her, his head off and positioned upside down on a spidery brass armature. He held up a bag of medicated saline cocktail with his left hand, which connected to a valve on his neck hardware via a long plastic tube. Talk about feeding your head.

When he heard me, Samedi’s eyes opened. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Charity.” I sat down on one of the crates, resting my elbows on my knees. “Remember the zombies I told you about, the ones we had to take on the
Christine
?”

“Mmm?”

“One of them was a little boy. Mute. Evola had to amputate his hand.”

Beryl stopped moving her tea bag, sympathy filling her eyes. “Poor thing.”

“And we told him maybe you’d make a replacement for him.”

Beryl held up a hand to preemptively hush Samedi, who’d started to pick up his head. “Of course
we
will.” She peered at him over the top of her mug, wordlessly challenging him to disagree.

Sam put his head back down and tipped it so he could fix me with bleary eyes. “Fine. Schedule every second of my rapidly diminishing time on Earth. Lord knows I get into trouble if I’m left to my own devices too long.” He extended his right arm, as if he expected me to pass him something. “Do you have the hand?”

My lips separated a second before I actually formed my reply. “No. The kid was, like, ten. What was I supposed to do, tell him I was going to borrow one of his body parts and get it back to him later?”

Samedi snorted. “Well, yes. What am
I
supposed to do, guess at his measurements? Guess where Evola aimed?”

I offered, “We could go see them in person. Find out.”

“See who in person?”

I looked over and saw Nora standing in the doorway. “The zombies I told you about. The ones on the ship.”

“Are you sure we can trust them?” Samedi asked. “Like I said, I can’t exactly go skipping merrily through New London.”

“Fairly sure, yeah. The woman leading them is kind of spacey, but she also seems understanding. A couple of them lost it on the docks, attacked the living. Living started it, though.”

Nora made a contemplative sound. As she turned from the door, she noted, almost absently, “You’ve got Sam, then. Leave the other old codger to me.”

“You kiss our young, pure Mr. Griswold with that disrespectful mouth?” upside-down Sam shot back.

“Baldwin, honestly,” Dr. Chase admonished.

I held my tongue and tried hard not to smile.

*  *  *

When Dr. Dearly came home on Saturday night for a shower and a few spoonfuls of food, we circled the wagons. After managing to corner him in the kitchen, Nora started out by preparing his dinner for him while he put his remaining biological foot up. The moment he hefted his fork, she got to the point.

“If Dr. Chase and Dr. Samedi come along, can I go with Bram after church to help some zombies in need? I’m ungrounded tomorrow, and things have calmed down a little. It’s not in the Morgue.” She didn’t resort to sweetness or cajoling—her tone was direct.

Dr. Dearly looked at her, then me. Having promised to let Nora see how far she could get on her own, I said nothing—but mentally I reviewed the various arguments I’d collected.
Sir, we both need direction. We want to be of use to you, we respect you, but we’ll make our own way if we have to. And honestly? Sometimes, I need her with me
.

The doctor continued in heavy silence. Before Nora could bolster her argument by going into further detail, or I could open my mouth, he put down his silverware and said, “Yes.”

Nora held still for a moment, surprised—but then moved to hug her father around the shoulders. He patted her elbow. “I promise, we don’t want trouble.”

“I believe you. The others will be with you. And the dead need all the help they can get.” Looking at me, he added, “Give me an hour alone. Then, Bram, if you’d accompany me to the ships?”

I agreed, but something in his tone suggested he was going to rehash the conversation we’d had following the hijacking. That’d been a mess of safety and etiquette concerns—so half reasonable, half stupid—and it worried me to think that he might wander back there, maybe get bogged down in the mud of his own mind. He’d given in so easily.

So a little more than an hour later, when we got into his nondescript coffee-colored carriage, I decided to take the bull by the horns. “Dr. Dearly, about the trip. We’re going to go help—”

“I trust you won’t lead her to ruin. I’m just glad you’re going with her.”

Thrown slightly off guard, I said, “But a few days ago you went over all the rules again, sir. I’m just trying to do right by you. By her.”

“I know I did. I know you are.” He hushed, concentrating on his driving.

Confused, I tried to piece together a reason for this apparent waffling. As I did, I couldn’t help but look at the man. Our differences hadn’t seemed so stark back at base. Although he was a good friend, he was also my elder, my superior, and he looked it now. In the midst of a worldwide revolution, he was dressed in a full black suit and top hat. He comfortably piloted his electric carriage through city avenues, living monuments to both an era long past and the new one modeled on it. I sat beside him in my usual clothing—soft trousers, collarless shirt, suspenders, secondhand jacket, and practical wide-brimmed fedora—feeling somewhat out of place.

In time, he spoke. “I couldn’t have created a better man for her. I want you to know that. But you must understand—I was a father before I was a zombie. An older man before I was a dead man. There is so much in my life I cannot control anymore that I find myself looking for areas I can. I worry even when there should be no cause for worry. I ascribe importance to things that, in theory, should matter about as much as the dreams of a fly. And I am sorry.”

I understood perfectly. “Yes, sir.”

“I just don’t want either of you to get hurt. But I’ve been thinking about what she said for a few days—she’s right. Before long, all of this—the good and the bad—will be past. She needs
to see it. Know it. Remember it when we are gone.” His voice grew soft. “Yet the world is a dangerous place, and the night has a thousand eyes that will outlive both of us. That’s all I ask you to consider.”

“Understood.”

“I fell into the habit of spoiling her when I was so often absent from her life. When I had so much to hide.” His cheek twitched slightly. “I still would, if I could.”

“Even if you did,” I assured him, “trust me—she’s not the worse for it. In fact, I’m pretty sure she loves you for it.”

Dr. Dearly chuckled. “I’m glad you think so.” After another pause, he said, “I want you with me on the
Erika
tonight. I’ve been chasing help away when I need it most. Salvez told me you’ve been volunteering at the barricade, but you shouldn’t be there. Leave that to the others.”

The way he phrased this request dampened the relief it might have otherwise brought me. I didn’t like the idea of leaving anyone behind, even if they were stationed only a hundred yards away from me. Still, I was ready to jump at the chance to do what I saw as more important work. To have a tool in my hands other than a gun. “Thank you.”

“We’re going to make it through this.” He seemed to remember something. “Oh, and someone dropped this off at the boats for you.”

He reached into his pocket, steering with one hand, and passed me a slip of yellow paper. It was covered with crabbed handwriting that appeared to have been done with something wide and rough, maybe a piece of charcoal.

The Changed

We are all dead, the living and dead alike
.

It is no longer safe here among those who have not changed
.

Be with your brothers, admire in another what you cannot have, dance and sing
.

Look for the light along Country Road 6
.

The Changed had apparently moved—but at least I knew where to find them. And it was out in the country. Definitely safer than the city, all things considered.

Maybe things were starting to look up.

I spent the entire night on the boats—about half that time with Dr. Dearly, and the other half helping to patch up zombies with Evola. Charles looked tired, the bags under his eyes so pronounced that he could barely wear his monocle. When I asked him if he’d taken a break recently, he shrugged and said, “Don’t like to impose on the Roes more than I have to. I’ve actually been trying to sleep here or in my carriage when I can.”

“Then why stay with them at all? There’s always room for another cot at the house. And we could actually really use your carriage. You could carpool with the other doctors.”

Evola shook his head uneasily. “I’m sorry, but no. I prefer to be closer to the boats.” After a second, clearly ashamed, he added, “I don’t like the idea of being underground. It makes me feel trapped.”

Him and Nora both. I texted her to let her know about her father and the note, adding that if we were going to be looking for a light, we’d better set off closer to sunset. She urged me to meet her at church anyway, like we’d originally planned.

When morning arrived, I cleaned up and went directly to the Cathedral of Our Mother, the pre-ice bank turned house of worship. Nora met me in the saffron-carpeted aisle beside our usual pew, smile brilliant, dressed in what she knew full well was my favorite gown—a pistachio green silk number with horizontal
strips of forest green velvet that emphasized what little shape she had. “Any bad news?”

I dared to take her hand and kiss it. A living lady in the pew behind ours glared at us, while the two young zombies sitting beside her bickered about whether accepting a communion wafer constituted cannibalism. “Not a bit.”

“Good,” she whispered, bouncing a little on her toes. “I put together a basket of medical supplies and things this morning. I barely slept last night. I feel like I can finally
breathe
.”

“Good idea.” As I slid into the dark wooden pew beside Dr. Chase and Father Isley, the only other members of the household I could see present, I caught sight of Pamela coming up the aisle. “There’s Miss Roe.”

Nora turned and waved at her friend. Pamela looked to her father, perhaps asking for permission, before braving the crowd of churchgoers and hugging Nora. “Morning, everyone. Where’s Dr. Dearly?”

“Still at work.” Nora scanned the pews to the left of us and appeared to be debating something with herself. “I hate to ask this, but have you seen Michael today? I still want to talk to him about Aunt Gene.”

Pamela tensed a bit. “No. I don’t exactly keep an eye out for him. He’s probably up in the balcony with the lords, and you can’t see into it from here.” She looked anyway, her head turning toward the back balcony with its columned supports, where the aristocrats perched high above the hoi polloi.

“Sorry. Just wondering.” Nora smiled apologetically. “Anyway, we’re going to visit some people later on with Chase and Samedi. You’re welcome to come if you want.”

Pamela turned back, surprised. “Visit? Who? Where?”

“Bunch of zombies. As for where …” She pointed at me.

“Country Road Six.”

“What? That’s in the middle of nowhere.” Pam looked from me to Nora. “Have you ever met these people before?”