MAHIR: Do you really think they would have held things together any better if you’d been in danger with them? My daughter is very young, Ms. Tutt. She’s not even walking yet, much less sulking off because she’s tired of me. And I’d sooner die than see her in danger. As a parent, I can assure you that your absence was the greatest gift you could possibly have given them.
Lorelei looks at me, startled. Her eyes are very wide, and for a moment—only a moment, but it’s real—I can see the teenager she must have been, innocent enough to enjoy a weekend at a comic book convention with her parents, naive enough to think that nothing bad would ever happen to her. My heart breaks a little in that moment. Not for Captain Lorelei J. Tutt, United States Coast Guard, but for the Lorelei who might have been, the girl that was on that hot summer day at the beginning of the Rising. She died there as surely as her parents did, in everything but flesh.
Finally, she speaks.
LORELEI: Would you like to see the footage?
MAHIR: Yes. I very much would. If you don’t think it would be too difficult for you.
LORELEI: It will be. But it’s something I need to do. Come with me.
She rises and leads me back to the living room, where she opens a cabinet beneath the television to reveal a stack of old-style DVD cases. She doesn’t need to look for what she wants: It’s right at the top. Without saying another word, Lorelei opens the case, extracts the disk, and slips it into the DVD player. The press of a single button turns on the television, and the video begins to play.
The tall, bald man with the hammer in his hand and the broad shoulders must be her father, Shawn Tutt. A glance at Lorelei’s face confirms this; there are tears in her eyes, and when he says, “Come on, people. We need to pick up the pace,” her lips move along with the words.
The other people with him both do and do not look like I pictured them. The short brunette woman with the determined eyes must be Lynn Tutt, Lorelei’s mother. I thought she’d be taller; Lorelei must get her height from her father’s side of the family. Leita is younger than I expected, with pale skin and dyed black hair. Her brother is younger still, clearly afraid, just as clearly determined that he will not be the first to break. Only Vanessa herself walks unseen, the woman behind the camera.
I have friends who would have appreciated that role.
“Are we sure this is the right way?” Leita is asking, a ragged edge of exhaustion and fear in her voice. “I don’t want—”
12:15 A.M.
“—to get stranded down a blind alley because nobody had a damn map.”
“We get to the back wall, and then we walk toward the far end of the hall until we come to the food court,” said Shawn grimly. “Once we’re there, we deal with whatever gets in our way.”
“What do you mean ‘deal with’?” asked Robert. He sounded nervous. They were all terrified; he was just the only one who couldn’t seem to stop himself from showing it.
“I mean we deal with it,” said Shawn, hand tightening on the handle of his hammer.
Leita put a hand on her brother’s arm. “Let it go,” she murmured. “This isn’t the time to start questioning the chain of command.”
“I should have stayed home and played video games all weekend,” Robert muttered, and kept walking.
“Vanessa? Are you all right back there?” Lynn twisted around to look at Vanessa, who was bringing up the rear.
“I’m fine,” said Vanessa. “I’m just checking the news sites. I want to see if there’s anyone talking about the bombing. Maybe we can find out how long we have.”
“Just watch your step,” said Shawn, after a very brief pause. He wanted her paying attention. He wanted information even more.
“I’m watching,” said Vanessa, and kept tapping.
Lynn paced alongside her husband, her own makeshift weapon—a length of timber that was intended to be part of the booth’s main structure—clutched tightly in her hands. She didn’t say anything at all. At this point, she didn’t want to tell lies, and she didn’t want to hear them, either. All the pretty reassurances and mealymouthed platitudes in the world wouldn’t change their situation. So they just walked on.
The blockades around the webcomic district stopped them. “Now what?” asked Robert. “Do we go around?”
“Not if we can help it.” Shawn stepped forward, rapping his hammer against the nearest makeshift wall. “Hey. We’re clean. We need to get to the wall. Let us through.”
Silence answered.
Shawn rapped again, a little harder. “Hey! We need to get to the back wall, and we don’t have time to go around you! Let us through!”
This time, there was an answer from the other side: a single soft moan that made the hairs on the back of Lynn’s neck stand on end. She grabbed Shawn’s elbow before he could rap a third time, pulling him backward.
“Shawn,” she hissed. “They’re not going to let us in, and I don’t think we want them coming out.”
Shawn hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded. “All right,” he said. “We go around.”
The zombies trapped inside the carefully constructed borders of the webcomics district gathered by the barrier and moaned as the Browncoats turned and walked away. But they didn’t break through, and for the moment, it seemed like escape might still be possible.
* * *
12:37 A.M.
A consensus had finally been reached, after a great deal of argument and some uncalled for swearing: They would stay put, monitor the social media feeds, and wait for rescue. Looking quietly relieved, Matthew sank down into one of the desk chairs, with Patty standing somewhat sulkily next to him. Elle sat back down on the replica of the precinct captain’s desk, head bowed in a combination of resignation and simple exhaustion. None of them had eaten, visited a bathroom, or really slept for hours. Pris, Eric, and Marty gathered together near one of the other desks, unconsciously illustrating the ongoing divide between the two groups.
Only Stuart didn’t move. Stuart hadn’t moved for a while, sitting on the edge of a desk, resting most of his weight on the spear he’d taken from Kelly.
Stuart didn’t feel good. And by that point, he knew that something was seriously wrong. He made a small sound, somewhere between a grunt and a moan. It had been long enough since he’d made any sounds at all that the others turned toward him, somehow hearing him above the screaming from outside.
“Stuart?” said Eric. “You okay, buddy?”
“You need…to go,” said Stuart. Forcing out the words seemed like more work than it should have been. He raised his head. That was even harder than speaking had been.
Patty’s eyes widened. “Your nose is bleeding.”
“You need…to go,” repeated Stuart. “What Kelly had. Think she gave it…to me. You can’t. Stay.”
“Oh, God,” whimpered Patty, and plastered herself against Matthew.
“Please,” said Stuart. “Please.”
“But she didn’t bite him!” said Eric. “How the f**k did he get sick, huh?”
“Does it matter?” asked Matthew. He got to his feet, tugging Patty along with him. “Come on, sweetheart. We need to go.”
“There are more out there than there are in here,” said Marty. “I think the odds are still better if we stay put.”
“And get blood everywhere, when we’ve just shown that the damn stuff is indirectly transmissible?” snapped Matthew. “No. If we’re going to be f**ked no matter what we do, I’d rather be f**ked running than sitting still.”
Stuart moaned, the spear falling from his hands. And then he lunged.
Maybe it was the setting. The precinct was the office of the Time Police, after all; it was the place where Indiction Rivers fought the forces of evil, prevented paradoxes, and always had perfect hair, even in the middle of a firefight. Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was simply that Elle had put herself in charge of her little accidental group of refugees, and when they were put in danger, she had to react. Whatever the reason, she flung herself from the desk where she’d been seated and grabbed Stuart by the back of the neck before he could reach the shrilly screaming Patty.
Whirling, Elle slammed Stuart against the nearest wall, using every technique she’d learned in her self-defense courses and in training for her role with the show to keep him pinned. “Go!” she shouted. “Get moving!”
“We’re not leaving you!” said Marty.
“You won’t have to! I’ll let him go when I have a clear shot at the door—but I’m not doing it before! Now move it!”
The others moved.
Stuart squirmed. Elle shoved him harder against the wall. “You seemed like a nice guy,” she said. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”
The techniques Elle had learned were designed to restrain people without harming them, and worked partially because most people would not hurt themselves to get loose. They were never intended for use on people who no longer cared about pain. She was still holding Stuart in place when he twisted himself at an angle that dislocated his shoulder with an audible popping sound and sank his teeth into her upper arm.
Elle screamed. Matthew, who had been escorting the others out the door, turned and stared at her in horror.
“Go!” she shouted. “Just go!”
Matthew hesitated. Only for a second. Then he nodded, mouthed the words “Thank you,” and stepped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Elle Riley, who would be remembered by most of history for her portrayal of Indiction Rivers, Time Police, and by a woman named Sigrid Robinson for everything else, closed her eyes. And then she let the zombie go.
If she screamed, no one heard it. Elle Riley died bravely, and when she died, she died alone.
Outside, the others moved into the aisles, heading away from the sound of screaming, heading toward the unknown dangers lurking in the darkness along the back wall.