Z 2135 (27 page)

Liza stared at Ana’s wrist, astounded.

It was like nothing she had ever seen. If a wound could be
beautiful, this one was. Most of the girl’s skin was the soft pink of fresh
skin, though there was still some faded lavender—barely— where the blackish
purple would have flowered under ripped flesh.

Duncan’s wound had scabbed like Ana’s, but it had taken so
much longer, and the slow improvement happened only after Liza had dressed the
gash daily. Jonah’s daughter and the boy, Liam, were out in The Barrens for
days, yet somehow had managed to reach the second camp better off than when
they left the first. Ana had no access to medicine or a doctor, yet had healed,
seemingly entirely on her own.

“This is amazing,” Liza said from her seat beside Ana, who
was lying on an exam table in one of the medical rooms located across from the
main lab on the third level. “I can’t believe how much better you look since
just two days ago.”

Liza had been plenty amazed since her own arrival at
Hydrangea, but was most awed by the possibilities present in the girl’s blood.
And then there was the zombie-cyborg doctor, Oswald, who might help her strain
those possibilities into a true cure.

Her hope had always been to reverse the
infection in the longtime zombies. This despite the possibility that their
bodies were too far gone to ever be fully repaired. While the zombies of Old
Nation movies were considered reanimated dead, the truth of the real zombies
was different: they weren’t dead. Rather, they were in an almost constant state
of dying, and most
should
have been dead, but clung to life, powered by the virus inside them, hungry to
spread by any means necessary.

Liza imagined that most people in The Barrens, if cured,
would likely die upon healing. Most zombies examined postmortem had brains that
had had severely limited blood flow to all but the most basic parts controlling
gross motor function. Even if Liza could cure the long-term infected, they’d
likely be vegetables at best.

But for the newly infected, and for those not yet infected,
Liza felt there was genuine hope for both cure and vaccine.

It was still early in the process of experimenting with
Ana’s blood, and she needed more subjects, but Liza couldn’t help but feel
encouraged by their prospects. Between Ana, and Oswald—who had somehow halted
the infection in his own body—stars seemed to be aligning for a breakthrough.

Ana asked, “Do you think I’ll be OK?”

“It’s still premature, but all evidence points to the virus
being in remission,” she said. It was so hard to believe that the words still
felt odd in her mouth, as if she were a liar for saying them. “I don’t want to
say you’re healed, as far as I know
healed
is actually impossible with this virus, but your blood is definitely in better
shape than Duncan’s, both after his initial infection, and post treatment.”

Liza sighed. This was how it was with science, always a
variable or many from the truth. “I wish there were some way I had a sample of
your blood from before you started to improve,” she said, half to herself. She
was lost in thought.

“What does this all mean?” Ana asked.

Liza came back from her musings. “It’s too early to say one
way or another. Or to know your overall level of infection from the onset to
now. I can only monitor what’s in front of me. We have to test and measure and
mostly wait. Until we know more, it’s all speculation.”

Liam, standing beside Ana on the other side of the table and
holding her hand, asked, “Have you ever seen anyone bitten who only turned a
little? This isn’t normal, right?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of people immune to the virus. Once their
bites healed, they were fine. I’ve never met anyone who was immune before,
though. This is only secondhand knowledge from other doctors I’ve spoken with.
To my knowledge nobody in City 6 was immune. And I’m not sure Ana is either. No,
this isn’t the standard response to a bite. Typically, a subject isn’t affected
at all beyond the regular bite wound,
or
they degrade, and … never get better. This is, as I said before, simply
amazing.”

“Why don’t you know more? Don’t doctors share information?”
Liam asked.

“I’m sorry,” Ana said, apologizing for Liam with a light
punch to the arm.

“No,” Liza said. “It’s a legitimate question. The State
publishes no data on infection rates. So far as I know, any attempts to find a
cure or vaccine have been abandoned by all but those foolish enough to perform
unsanctioned experiments.”

“Like you?” Ana asked with a smile.

“Like me,” Liza said. “My only human subject to date was
Duncan. And he’d only improved after we treated him with experimental medications.”

“Are you going to give me the same medicine?”

“I don’t think I need to. I want to see how this plays out
untreated.”

“So if I’m understanding all of this right,” Liam continued,
his kind eyes trying to make sense of it all, “it’s possible that Ana could get
better, and if she does, it’s also possible that she could help you develop a
cure?”

“
Maybe
,”
Liza said. She looked up at Oswald, who had just entered the exam room, and
asked how Ana was feeling.

Since Liza had met the doctor it was almost a full-time job
to keep from staring in awe, constantly pretending he wasn’t the most amazing
(and inspiring) thing she had ever seen.

Ana said she was OK as Oswald examined her arm.

Liza asked him, “What do you think?”

Oswald turned his head sideways, examining every inch of
Ana’s arm.

“Looks good,” he said.

“No,” Liza said. “I meant what do you think about a cure?”

“Yes, I believe a cure is possible; that’s what we’ve all
been working toward for so long now. I’d started to lose hope after so many
failed attempts. But Anastasia has me feeling hopeful again.”

Oswald smiled, though only half of his mouth turned upward,
then said, “I can’t wait to get some test subjects; that’s our next step. It’s
easy to find fresh infections in The Barrens, so we’ll have more than we need
in no time at all.” He turned to Ana. “Your blood could change everything, and
we’ll know a lot more soon. All I keep thinking is: If a cure can be found, why
can’t it be us?”

Liza had been trying not to get her hopes up too much,
especially after losing Duncan. But she couldn’t help but feel buoyed by the
optimism around her.

A cure promised to change everything, tear down The Walls
and give humanity a fresh start. The world would earn another chance. It would
be easy enough to say that one person was nothing to go on, but
one person
was where
everything always started.

Cures weren’t born, they were discovered. Throughout known
history, scientists spent plenty of time looking in the wrong places before
stumbling into the right ones. This
felt
like a breakthrough, and even though Liza had felt such things before,
as with Duncan, this time was different.

And this time she wasn’t alone.

Liza would have thought Oswald a genius the second she saw
the measures he’d taken to ensure his survival. She could only imagine the
nerves, courage, and raw intelligence it had taken to do what he did—to chop
off his own limbs and replace them with bionics. And after a few minutes of
speaking with Oswald, Liza knew he
was
special. If anyone was going to find a cure, it would be them. And it would be
now.

It had to
be.

“So Dr. Goelle,” Liam said, “is she gonna live?”

It was obvious how much the boy cared for Jonah’s daughter,
not just because of how he stood close enough to warm her, but because his
every motion seemed articulated for her protection. He had glanced around the
room when they first entered. It seemed to Liza as if he were scouting for
danger, but his glances seemed designed around Ana, calculating distance
between potential peril and its direct relation to her.

Their young love made Liza smile, though as sure as she was
about Liam’s feelings for Ana, she couldn’t tell if his feelings were
reciprocated.

Ana seemed to like Liam, but there was something else there
too, something Liza couldn’t quite figure out. Ana was definitely guarded,
though. It could have been nothing more than simple caution. Liza couldn’t
imagine anyone having a more difficult past year than Ana. First getting
tricked into thinking her father had done something so awful as murder her
mother, then getting thrown into The Games, trying to survive, living day to
day in a camp, then getting bitten just before leaving—the poor girl would
probably never be able to relax again.

Love was hard enough in the best of times. There was only so
much a person could take before closing herself off.

Liza felt her eyes getting damp, thinking of Jonah and how
once upon a time she swore his heart beat faster around her, desperately
wishing for him to fall into the misdeed she knew they both wanted. Liza had
never felt so selfish in her life, not wanting to destroy Molly or stab a woman
she didn’t even know with her betrayal. Liza felt like she knew Jonah’s wife
through his stories, and didn’t want to hurt her. But at the same time, she
didn’t want to give him up.

You can’t help who you fall in love with.

Liza had tried not to fall for a married man, but had just
the same. She didn’t have to have him to herself. Liza would have been fine
being Jonah’s little secret, if it meant having some of his attention. She had
imagined him many times standing behind her, his breath on her neck, hands over
hers, wandering up.

She was ashamed to admit that she’d practically thrown
herself at him.

But he was a good man.

As tempted as he may have been—and she was certain he was—he
wouldn’t cheat on Molly.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” Ana asked, pulling
Liza from her thoughts.

Liza turned from the girl, embarrassed. “Because you remind
me so much of your father.”

Ana blanched. “You know my father?”

“I do,” Liza nodded. “He’s the reason I’m here. He’s very
brave; you should be very proud.”

“How do you know him?”

Liam looked at Liza curiously, a student of the new
information. She turned back to Ana. “We worked together in City 6 a long time
ago, when I was doing some work for City Watch. Then your father snuck to City
6 and asked me to come here, to help find a cure. He can’t wait to see you
again; it’s all he talked about the whole way here, from City 6 to camp.”

“Yeah,” Ana said. “I can’t believe I’m going to see him.
That was all that kept me going on our way here. If I’d known he wouldn’t be
here when we arrived, I probably would have turned.”

“That’s not true,” Liam said. “I wouldn’t have let you.”

Ana held her hands up in the air and growled. “I would’ve
eaten your face, Harrow, and there wouldn’t have been anything you could’ve
done to stop me.”

He laughed.

She added, “You’ve seen me when I’m hungry.”

Liza watched this interplay, and started to reassess their
relationship.

“Anyway,” Ana turned back to Liza, “I was so sad when we
finally got here and my dad wasn’t around. My arm started hurting again when I
heard the news, but I’m sure that was my body’s way of saying it was mad like
my brain.”

Liza laughed. Ana was starting to remind her more of Jonah
with each moment. Oswald had suddenly disappeared from the room, saying he had
to check on something, as if he didn’t want to intrude on what he thought might
be a personal moment between them. Thinking about this caused Liza to wonder if
there would be many more, and if something like family was possible in a place
like Hydrangea, or The Barrens.

With a cure in the world, anything was possible.

The door behind them opened and Sutherland stepped in.
Katrina entered behind him.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he smiled, “I’m here for remarkable
news. So how is the lovely Anastasia Lovecraft? Quite cured I imagine?”

“Not quite,” Liza said. “But maybe someday, and hopefully
soon. It does look like she’s in excellent shape, and while I can’t say for
certain that she’s in remission since I’ve no control to compare with, I
strongly suspect she might be.”

Sutherland looked relieved; his entire body seemed to relax.
“That is good news. I am so happy.”

He turned from Liza to Ana, and asked, “Does that help make
up for the quarantine? Again, I feel I must apologize for that, though I’m sure
you understand.”

“Of course,” Ana said, “and to be honest, I don’t mind the
quiet at all. I mostly feel like being alone right now, anyway. The only person
I really want to be around is Liam, and it’s not like I’m quarantined from
him.”

Ana laughed and looked at Liam. They traded smiles.

“Well, it’s a tremendous day for Hydrangea,” Sutherland
said. “Katrina, would you please take our newest guests back to their quarters
and make sure they get something to eat?”

Katrina nodded and took a step toward Ana.

Ana asked, “Any word from my dad yet?”

“Yes, actually,” Sutherland brightened. “Everything is going
according to plan. We’re waiting to hear more, but it seems your father should
arrive back on schedule.”

Ana smiled and nodded, looking both anxious and eager. Liza
could only imagine how desperate she was to finally see her father.

Liza felt the same.

Jonah stared at the old man. He had endless wrinkles around
his eyes and mouth, yet still seemed to have healthy, youthful cheeks. His
color was excellent—a warm pink—and while his skin was wrinkled, it wasn’t
papery.

“How do you know me?”

The man smiled, approaching Jonah. “We’ll get to that. First,”
he said, holding out his hand for the bag, “I believe that is for me.”

Jonah handed the bag to the man, finally relieved of his
obligation.

There.
Job done. Time to go.

The old man looked in the bag and then up at Jonah.
“Perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jonah said.

“Are you wondering what this is?”

Jonah wasn’t sure if he should say what Sutherland had told
him or not.

“Not my business,” Jonah said. “I was asked to deliver it,
and now you have it. That’s all I need to know.”

The old man smiled as he led Jonah to two chairs on either
side of a small circular table. The old man set down the bag down, then looked
up at Jonah.

“Inside that bag is a cure.”

“A cure?” Jonah asked.

“Yes, a cure for what ails this world. A cure for the
regime’s evil ways. Yes,” he smiled, “this will most definitely make our blood
healthy again.”

Jonah didn’t want to know any more. He wanted to get out and
back to Sutherland’s. He didn’t want to know who the man was or how he intended
to kill Geralt, nor did Jonah want to know why the old man had been waiting for
so long to meet Jonah.

None of it mattered.

He thought of Ana, probably back at Hydrangea right now,
waiting to see him.

“So how do I get out of here?” Jonah asked. “You have your
cure
, now I need to get
back. My daughter is waiting for me. I don’t imagine I can leave through the
front gates.”

“Nonsense,” the old man said. “Why would you want to go
anywhere when
this
is
so exciting, here, right now? Do you not open your presents on Nativity?” He
laughed again, then leaned forward, opened the bag, and began to pull out glass
vials filled with light-blue liquid. He lined them in two neat rows, each with
five vials, each vial sealed with a cork holding the toxins inside.

The vials nearly twinkled from the light coming in through
the window that faced the ocean.

The old man looked at the vials with enough pride to suggest
he had filled them himself, or had been waiting forever to see them. He turned
to Jonah with wet eyes.

“I am a big fan of yours, Jonah Lovecraft. Thank you so much
for coming into my city, and then to my home. You, Sir, are a hero. It is a
shame there’s no actual City 7. If anyone has ever deserved it, for horrors
suffered in the name of his city and under the thumb of this State, it is
you
.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ever since meeting Katrina it seemed everyone around Jonah
knew more about everything (including him) than he did. He couldn’t shake the
feeling not only that he knew the old man, but also that the old man knew him
in some way, deeper than the untold number of people across all six cities who
had seen his performance in The Games.

“You served City 6 like a man, fulfilled your role with
impeccable duty and enviable honor. Then, when The State discovered you were
doing your small part to keep the world safe for those standing to suffer most,
they set you up for Molly’s murder and sent you to die in the bloody Games,
offensive as they are. And for what, Jonah? To keep the engines of tyranny
running? To keep
him
in power?”

The old man broke his gaze, returning to the vials and his
admiration. He ran his fingers along the glass as if waiting for Jonah to
speak.

“How do you know they
set
me up?
Maybe I did kill her.” Jonah wasn’t sure why, but for some
reason, he felt argumentative.

The old man looked up from the vials. His eyes seemed
surprised when they found Jonah’s, as if he couldn’t quite decode the
question’s nature. “Well, because, I know everything. That’s my job.

“I know that you
technically
killed her, but it wasn’t you who programmed it.”

Jonah stood up, feeling close to an answer for the first
time ever. Egan had told him that The State had implanted a chip in him. A chip
that could control him. A chip he assumed had something to do with Molly’s
death, even if it seemed impossible to fathom some man-made technology that
could make him murder the love of his life, the mother of his children. “Who
programmed it?”

“Please, Mr. Lovecraft, sit.”

Jonah sat.

The old man continued, “I’ll give you one guess.”

“Keller?” Jonah asked, the first name that came to mind. The
man he had always assumed was somehow complicit in Molly’s death.

“See, you aren’t just brave, but also smart.”

“But why the hell would Chief Keller have me kill my wife?”

“Because you betrayed him by joining The Underground. Chief
Keller is a very bitter man, particularly since losing his son. He doesn’t take
kindly to a spy in his nest.”

Jonah felt like he was going to throw up. “But why kill
Molly? She didn’t do anything.”

“He wanted to hurt you. Wanted to disgrace you, and couldn’t
tell The City that his top Watcher had joined The Underground. So he had to
eliminate you in another way.”

The old man then said, “But if you need someone to blame,
someone other than Keller, blame the man who gave the command.”

“Who?” Jonah asked.

“Jack Geralt, of course.”

Jonah didn’t know if the old man was lying, or just trying
to woo Jonah to his cause.

“Who are you?” Jonah asked, feeling certain he’d seen the
old man somewhere before.

“My name is Denton Sinclair. And, I’m horrified to admit, I
am one of the men responsible for the sad state of your world.”

The room felt suddenly heavier. Jonah replayed the old man’s
words in his head and came back with the same thing twice.

“What are you talking about?”

The old man said, “I am nearly two hundred years old.”

Jonah stared in shock. Extreme old age wasn’t unheard of in
City 1—those were the rumors, anyway. Jack Geralt was supposed to be nearing
that impossible age himself, though no one seemed to know for sure. The State
celebrated Jack Geralt Day in honor of his birthday, but his actual date of
birth was detailed only as “Before Plague.” Even if such extreme old age was
possible in City 1, Jonah had never seen anything like it.

“Back in 1975 I was part of a government program called
Everlast. We had developed a way for humans to live for hundreds of years. It
sounds
great,” he said,
seeing Jonah’s reaction, “but this was at a time when the world’s natural
resources were nearly depleted. Earth was ever on the verge of the next world
war, prepared to fight over scraps. Why would anyone want to live forever when
the world was becoming more difficult to survive? We knew that if we didn’t do
something, it was only a matter of time before someone destroyed everything. So
we gathered a tiny percentage of the population, then spread out in six huge
underground bunkers in what was then known as the United States. We were just
more than sixteen thousand of the country’s best, brightest, healthiest—the
ones most capable of repopulating a planet primed to thrive. Then, in 1981, we
unleashed the virus … and ended everything.”

Jonah stared at the man, horrified. He couldn’t have managed
a word, even if he wanted to.

“The virus was everywhere. In a matter of days, outbreaks
were scattered across the planet. It was a pandemic unlike anything seen
before. After the first month, most of the planet was eating itself. The
minority who didn’t turn to zombies were left to fight the one war to end them
all. Then, soon enough, they were all gone and there was nothing outside the
bunkers but walking dead. Just like that, humanity was mostly memory, wiped to
nearly nothing. Just those six bunkers.”

“How could you do that?” Jonah finally managed, horrified.
“How could you murder millions of people?”

With no expression, the old man corrected Jonah.

“Billions.”

Jonah felt weak, near collapse.

“Why are you telling me this?

The old man didn’t respond. Instead, he stood, went to a
shelf with a large paper bag, and brought it back to the table. He pulled out a
pair of chambray pants and a crisp white shirt, loose-fitting like Percy’s.
“I’ll need you to put this on. My driver will give you a belt and a shock
stick.”

Jonah wanted to know why the old man was giving him a City
Watch uniform, and assumed it was for his exit out of City 1. But before that,
he wanted to know why the old man was sharing his secrets.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Jonah repeated.

“This is my confession. I don’t have much longer, not here
in City 1, or anywhere else. Our miracle drug slowed the aging process, but it
can’t stop it entirely. I’m dying. The original among us, save for Geralt and a
few others, are mostly dead.”

“So why am I here?”

“To right what went wrong. Jack Geralt is the man who
developed the virus. He is the father of the zombies, the architect of death.
He must die, and we must bring down this empire he’s built—that I helped build.
This is not the world he promised. America was nothing like this. It was the
land of the free, home of the brave. Geralt turned it into a mockery, using
fear as a prison. Using his
Watchers
to murder dissent.”

Jonah stared, trying to absorb the scope of the old man’s
story.

Sinclair continued, “I want to bring down this government,
replace it with one by the people, and
for
the people. The men responsible for unleashing the virus so many years ago are
still in power, their principles driving The State. It must stop. I must do my
part to end it before I leave. The leaders are gathered together at High Tower
with some elders from the cities this week, for a conference. Little do they
know it will be their last.

“Please, Jonah,” the old man gestured to the folded clothes.
“Put on the uniform.”

Jonah put his hand on the fabric—
so soft.

“Why am I putting this on? Is this my ticket out?”

“You’re going to get on the train leading toward the City 1
watchtower. You will walk the train’s length in uniform, slowly releasing the
virus. It is simple. You press a button. Liquid turns to gas; history is
changed. This is a variant of Geralt’s original virus; it will spread and
destroy everyone in City 1 just as quickly as we wiped out the world.”

The old man tapped the glass vials in a row, like keys on a
xylophone.

Jonah yelled, “The hell I am!”

“Oh, but you
will
, Mr. Lovecraft.”

He could feel the threat radiating from the old man’s body.
The room was surely armed and capable of turning him to vapor at a blink.

“I am not going to infect innocent people. You’ll have to
kill me.”

The old man shook his head, amused. “No, no, no. There’s no
need for violence, Jonah. That isn’t the way here. Besides, I’ve seen how good
you are with your back against the wall. Why else do you think I asked you to
do this job?”

“If you do this, how do you know it won’t spread to the
other cities? How do you know you won’t destroy the entire world again?”

Sinclair said nothing.

“Oh my God,” Jonah said. “Is that your goal?”

“We have some of our people hidden away, underground
fittingly enough. They’ll restore power to The City once it falls. They’ll kill
any zombies left, and any remaining resistance. Given The Walls, and distance
from the other cities, I don’t see infection spreading again.”

“Still,” Jonah said. “I can’t do this. These people are
innocent.”

Sinclair turned to the wall and gestured. It went from a
warm white to full color, suddenly filled with a video of Sutherland standing
in front of his many reds and golds.

No, not a video, but a live broadcast.

Sutherland looked at Jonah, and smiled, “Hello, Jonah. So
sorry that you’re on the wrong side of deceit
yet
again. But I’m afraid I have no choice but to lean on you for this one
final favor. Please, accept my apology and word that you
will not
be harmed. We’ve
prepared an antidote for you and a select number of people who will help us
return City 1 to its former glory.”

“Antidote? You mean you all can cure this? Why the hell did
you need Dr. Liza?” Jonah asked. Nothing was making sense.

Sutherland said, “Antidote isn’t the same as a cure. And
this is a variant we’ve created, which we can better control. While we feel
we’re close to a cure for the original virus, we needed Dr. Liza to ensure our
success. And now, Jonah, we just need you to do this one last thing.”

One last
thing. Always one last thing.

Jonah snarled. “Fuck you, Sutherland. You too, Grandpa.”

Sutherland sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Sutherland clicked something in his hand and his broadcast
cut to something else—Ana sitting beside Liam in a large room, about twice the
size of a City Watch holding cell. The room appeared perfectly comfortable,
with neat furniture and full pillows, but they were prisoners and the red light
above the door proved it.

The broadcast from the room cut out and Sutherland returned,
faux sympathy on his face. “Yes, Jonah. She’s here, and quite well … at the
moment. I truly hate to do this, Jonah, but I know what a good man you are. And
how you might need some pushing to do the
truly
right
thing. I don’t want to be dramatic and tell you all the horrible
things I can do to Ana. You’re a smart man, I’m sure you can imagine.”

Jonah hated the fucker, more even than he hated Keller.

You couldn’t reason with monsters. Jonah tried anyway.