Plague Town (4 page)

Even Gabriel had been out sick, despite his vegan miracle diet. Since I’d been fit as a fiddle for two weeks now, it was something I planned to exploit mercilessly as soon as he returned. But while I was a little concerned about Zara, I pretty much assumed she’d get over it, like I had.

Still, I’d keep an eye on her.

Speaking of sickness and death
, I mused,
I’m going to be late for Pandemics if I don’t leave right away.
So I grabbed my bag and dashed out the door.

There was only one other person in line at the coffee kiosk; an androgynous-looking hipster with a pixie cut, American Outfitters hoodie, and distressed jeans tucked into L.L. Bean boots. The smell of cloves tipped me off to his cigarette even before he raised it to his mouth for a long inhale.

He started hacking right after the puff, a deep, rattling cough that made me step back a foot. I didn’t think I could catch Walker’s again, but still...

While I waited for the girl in the kiosk to make the hipster’s foamy double extra-hot vanilla latte, I looked around. There were surprisingly few people, given that the outbreak had been going on for more than a month.

But we had to be in the home stretch. Hopefully by the next week most of them would be back, and the campus would return to its usual beehive of activity. I hoped so, ’Cause for the moment it resembled a ghost town.

I ordered my usual double cappuccino and blueberry muffin.

“Is it just me, or is it even deader than usual today?” I commented.

The girl tamped down two shots of espresso with an expert hand.

“It’s
crazy
dead today. You’re, like, my fifth customer this morning. Normally we have a total mad rush by eight.” Frothing the non-fat milk, she made my cappuccino as automatically as a robot would. Android
barista
.

“Weird,” I said. “I mean, I know a lot of people have been sick the last couple weeks, but you’d think they’d be back in class by now.”

She handed me my cap.

“I heard the ER’s still hopping.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded, using tongs to pull a fat streusel-encrusted blueberry muffin out of the case. I tried not to drool.

“Yup,” she added. “And from what I’ve heard, some people have been getting kind of crazy.”

“Crazy like how?”

She shrugged, putting the bag on the counter.

“Fights and stuff. Really sick people attacking folks in the hospital and on the street.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t heard any of this stuff.”

She glanced around, then leaned closer.

“My brother works for the Redwood Grove PD. He says it’s no big deal, but the cops are trying to keep it quiet so people don’t freak out.”

My turn to nod.

“Yeah, I can see why they wouldn’t want to have that getting around.” Forking over four fifty, I stuffed a buck in the tip jar and headed to D.B. Patterson Hall, dodging a gaggle of grim-faced ROTC types in full-on military gear
jogging across the grass in front of the student union.

Be all that you can be, and all that.

I hoped Gabriel was back today. I couldn’t wait to ask him how his diet of fruit, nuts, soy and whole grain had worked out for him.

Granted, our student-TA relationship had improved since that contentious first day, but we still sniped at each other. His sanctimonious attitude definitely brought out the worst in me. And if I behaved badly... well, he started it.

I made it to room 217 at five minutes before eight, plenty of time to have my pick of seats. From the look of things, I probably could have arrived at eight-thirty and still picked a seat pretty much wherever I wanted. The classroom was only half full.

Jamie—whom I still thought of as Miss Hot Topic—stood in Gabriel’s usual spot at the lectern, getting the projector set and doing whatever else Gabriel did to make himself feel important before class

Meow
.

She looked up at the sound of the door creaking, but when she saw it was me, she went back to her work without acknowledging my presence.

Jamie did not like me. I’d figured this out after three consecutive classes where my efforts to talk to her had been studiously ignored. Maybe she had a crush on Gabriel or something.

Whatever.

I took out my copy of Professor Fraser’s
The Black Death to Ebola: Plagues Through History,
and pulled out my trusty NEO AlphaSmart. A lot of students used laptops, but if there was one thing I
didn’t
need during class was an excuse to distract myself with stuff like Facebook, Twitter, and random web surfing.

The AlphaSmart gave me word processing, but no Internet. If I had access, I’d do it. My mind was willing, but my attention span weak.

By the time Professor Fraser arrived, looking like a forties movie star in wide-legged black trousers and a white silk blouse, we were still missing at least a third of the class, and of the two thirds there, half were coughing miserably.

The professor stood at the lectern and surveyed the class, with Jamie a couple steps behind her like a worshipful shadow.

“So, how many here feel perfectly healthy today?”

About ten of us raised our hands.

“And how many would rather be home in bed?”

Everyone raised his or her hands. We all laughed, followed by more of those nasty coughing fits.

Professor Fraser smiled and shook her head.

“Let me rephrase that. How many of you feel like death warmed over?”

This time the number of hands counted for at least half of the students in the room.

“Excellent!” she said. “I’d like all of those who just raised their hands to go home immediately.”

A few students laughed, but from the expression on Professor Fraser’s face, it became obvious that she wasn’t joking.

“
Now
, please,” she said. “You are ill, and should not be here. The irony—of germ-infested students attending a lecture on pandemics—is not lost on me. But the germs you carry
should
be—so please take them away.” People still hesitated. “If you’re worried about your grades, I guarantee that anyone who misses any portion of this class due to illness will be given every opportunity to make up the work they’ve missed.

“After all, intimate contact with a potentially lethal virus should count as part of your grade.” She clapped her hands together briskly. “Now go!” As much as she was trying to be upbeat, I had the feeling she wasn’t just being a good Samaritan.

I didn’t blame her.

At least half the class slowly rose and trailed out through the doors. The rest of us stayed where we were.

“Jamie?” Professor Fraser gave a nod to her intern, who promptly grabbed a box and started handing out small packets to all of the remaining students. She dropped mine on the little foldout desk that was attached to my chair.

According to the label on the packet, it was a Clean’n’Wipe sanitizing towelette. When everyone had one, the professor spoke again.

“I suggest you all use these to wipe down your hands, desks, and the desks of those who sat next to you.”

Nobody argued with her.

“Miss Parker, you’re looking much healthier this week.” The professor smiled at me approvingly.

“I think I pretty much kicked Walker’s’ butt,” I said.

“Good.” Professor Fraser nodded. “You’re very lucky.”

I caught Jamie glaring at me, and suddenly her animosity made sense. Total
girl
crush going on here. I’d been on her shit list since day one, ever since Professor Fraser had told me to take care of myself.

Did I mention
whatever
?

When I stopped back at the dorm to check on Zara, she was still asleep. Her breathing seemed kind of thick and uneven, but her fever had gone down and her color was less “moldy cheese” and “more living co-ed.”

I heated up some chicken broth on our hot plate, and when I brought it to her, she stirred. I propped some pillows under her so she could eat.

“You sure you’re okay if I’m out tonight?” I asked, hoping desperately that she would say “yes.”

Zara nodded, taking a few tentative sips of the broth.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” She ate some more soup and had a swallow of ginger ale. “Thanks for making this.”

“No prob. Just stay in bed, okay?”

“I promise.”

I handed her a tube of apricot and olive oil exfoliant. “It was behind the tomatoes. Just don’t try and use it tonight.”

Zara yawned.

“You’re the best, Ash.”

My cell phone beeped. Matt, texting he was waiting for me downstairs.

“Gotta go. Call me on my cell if you need anything!”

But Zara had already curled back up and dropped off, clutching the tube of face scrub like it was a teddy bear.

I smiled as I headed out the door. She was definitely on the mend.

Josh and Jason had suffered less mutilation than Maggie. They traveled with her, some atavistic bond keeping them near even though their corpses were capable of moving much more quickly.

They were all hungry. Their last meal had been a week ago when they’d stumbled across one of the houses scattered through the mountains above Redwood Grove. There had only been one skinny teenager at home when they’d arrived, and by the time the three had eaten their fill, all the girl’s reanimated remains would be able to do was flop and wriggle about on the floor.

Still their hunger persisted.

The sound of motors turned the trio toward a break in the trees. Vehicles painted in forest camouflage rumbled by on the road below.

Food.

Two weeks stumbling through dense forests had taken its toll on Maggie, and she quickly fell behind as Josh and Jason moved with a swift, single-minded purpose down a steeply graded hill that ended in a sheer drop-off. Neither had the coordination needed to stop from tumbling over the edge.

Landing on the rock-strewn canyon below, Josh shattered all of his limbs, while Jason got lucky and fell on what used to
be his father, rolling off without damage. Driven by mindless appetite, he slowly got to his feet and lurched off into the forest, leaving Josh to writhe hungrily on the ground.

Meanwhile, Maggie veered off in a different direction as the sound of trucks moved off into the distance.

Lights shone down below the tree line.

Lights meant food.

“Mmmm, baby, you smell so good.”

I giggled as Matt nuzzled against me, sniffing up and down my neck and shoulders. It tickled, and he sounded like a Saint Bernard with asthma. Disgusting and cute at the same time.

I thought I heard a rustling sound, and jumped. Pushing Matt away, I ignored his pout, pulled my sweater back down and jeans back up, scanning for any passers-by wandering the woods behind campus after dark. Not too likely, really, especially when the weather was chilly and overcast. Plus the grove of redwoods where we’d spread our blanket was pretty much private.

So I turned and shot him my sweetest smile, hoping to salve his bruised male ego.

“Pass the champagne, ‘kay?”

Matt still pouted a little, but filled a little glass flute with some Italian bubbly.

“It’s Prosecco, not champagne, Ash,” he said with a light air of condescension. “It’s not champagne—”

“—Unless it
comes from Champagne,”
I finished for him. “I know, I know.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my ex had exposed me to top quality wine back in the day. I didn’t complain about Matt’s enthusiasm, though. I got to taste some prime stuff without suffering through the cheap white zins of the world.

Yeah, all in all, I’d rather be seduced with sparkling wine than Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Right on cue, Matt decided he’d sulked long enough and shot me his winning grin.

“Enjoying the picnic, Ash?”

I nodded. How could I not? I mean, how many college guys took the time to pack full-on picnics? We’re not talking a bucket of KFC and a six-pack. Nope, roast chicken, bread, brie, and bubbly. Bread knife, cutting board,
and
cloth napkins. He’d even brought a small camp lantern, but had turned it down in order to be less conspicuous. My ex had never gone to this much trouble.

I wonder what Gabriel serves his dates
, I mused somewhat guiltily.
Soy wine?
I took another sip and used my free hand to hide a delicate little belch that bubbled out of nowhere.

Bubbly burp
, I thought, and I started giggling.

Whoa, tipsy much?
I probably should have had more of the food before diving straight into the alcohol.

Matt didn’t mind.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. Good thing, ’cause I couldn’t stop giggling now that I’d started.

He started nuzzling my neck again, making low growling noises that vibrated pleasantly against the sensitive skin, both tickling me and turning me on. One thing led to another and we were soon happily back where we’d left off.

Then he added something new to the repertoire. It was a weird, low, moaning sound—but not the usual “Oh, baby” and “You’re turning me on.” No, this noise was strange enough to break through my lust-and-alcohol haze.