“To answer your question,” Rosso says with great restraint, “we don’t know who else there is. We don’t know much of anything. General Grigio wasn’t … he didn’t prioritise outreach.” His tone briefly slips out of professionalism as he recalls his former friend. “We haven’t sent scouts outside Cascadia in seven years. Travelers are rare and their reports are unreliable. Even the Almanac seems to have gone out of print.”
“This is bullshit,” Balt says, folding his arms so the gun tattoos on his biceps bulge. “We need to know who’s out there. We need to know our enemies!”
“Because everyone out there is our enemy,” Julie mutters under her breath. She and Nora and I are against the wall, slightly removed from the crowd. The women aren’t official representatives, but they’re considered “special consultants” due to their intimate acquaintance with the undead threat: the Morgue, in Nora’s case, and in Julie’s case … me.
And me? Why am I in this room? I have no title, I have no job, and the percentage of people who think I should be shot hovers right around fifty. But Rosso insists he sees something in my eyes, even now that they’re dirt brown. Rosso says I have important work to do. I wish he could be more specific.
“Well Mr. Balt,” he says, “if you’ve managed to locate and disable the BABL generator, I’ll be happy to send out a national broadcast asking our enemies to identify themselves. Until then, we’re living in a narrow spotlight on a dark stage.”
Balt glowers but says nothing.
“What did Goldman say?” Julie asks. “They didn’t know anything either?”
Rosso hesitates. “We’ve been trying to ask them.” Another pause, perhaps suddenly reconsidering his decision to make this meeting public. “The line to Goldman headquarters seems to be disconnected.”
A wave of fearful murmuring rushes through the room and I can almost hear it spreading through the streets outside.
“So that’s it, then!” Balt says, jumping to his feet. “They invaded Goldman. It’s a fuckin’ war!”
“For those of you listening outside,” Rosso sighs into the mic, “Mr. Balt is visibly tumescent.”
“Visibly what?”
“Sit down, Tim. It may be an invasion, it may not. Scouts are on their way to the dome as we speak.”
Balt looks at Kenerly for confirmation and Kenerly nods. Balt sits down with exaggerated slowness, adjusting his grey fatigues.
“Could it be the Fire Church?” a man in the crowd asks.
“Invasions aren’t in their liturgy,” Rosso says. “They’re out to raze cities, not rule them.”
“What about the old corporate militias?” an elderly woman asks.
“All the big ones destroyed each other in the Merger War. The survivors choked in the Borough Conflicts. There are no nation-scale forces left in America, as far as we know.” He clears his throat. “But like I said … we don’t know very far.”
The room falls into silence as everyone looks around, hoping someone else has the question or answer that will ease the tension. A few rows back, Ella stands up. “Suppose it is an invasion. Suppose they’ve conquered Goldman and they’re coming for us next. Whoever they are, any group that has a fleet of helicopters probably is nation-scale, and now they have Goldman’s resources too. So if they want this stadium … do we really want to fight them for it?”
“Of course we want to fight!” Balt yelps as if insulted. “The fuck else would we do?”
“Leave? Go somewhere else and try something new? Like Lawrence said, it’s wild territory out there. There could be fertile land and fresh water. There could be beautiful places to live that aren’t on anyone’s to-conquer list. Why sacrifice our lives for a concrete box?”
“Because they are outside this box,” Balt says, and I jolt when I notice his finger is aimed at my head. “Yeah, you lanky motherfucker. Thought I forgot about you?” He stands up again; Rosso sighs again. “I didn’t forget, but did everyone else? Did you forget about this rotten piece of shit and all the other flesh-eaters we’ve got hanging around our homes? This ‘cure’ bullshit is …” He stabs his finger at me a few times. “Well it’s bullshit!”
Nora stifles a chuckle. Julie is too busy glaring.
“The night before they all ‘transformed’ or whatever the fuck you want to call it, this fuckin’ corpse almost killed me and my buddies. Then he went out and fuckin’ ate one of our guys. And now he’s standing here in our fuckin’ meeting hall like a fuckin’ guest of honour.”
A murmur of agreement runs through the crowd. I feel the focus of four hundred eyes like a laser dot on my forehead. I have to admit, he has a point.
“I’d like to ‘almost kill’ you too,” Julie snaps, pushing herself off the wall and stepping forward. “I know a lot of people who would. So what?”
I put a hand on her shoulder but she doesn’t notice it.
“A lot of shit happened that night,” she continues. “R killed Krauss because Krauss was about to kill him. Everyone in this room has had to kill someone at some point. It happens. So let’s get off the fact that he killed a guy and focus on the fact that he’s a zombie who cured himself!”
“How?” someone in the crowd shouts. “How’d he do that?”