Steven Harper - The Impossible Cube

“It is hard to remember,” Feng admitted.

“It’s working,” Alice breathed. “Look!”

The zombies shuddered. One looked at his hands, turning them over and over, as if seeing them for the first time. The other licked his half-rotted lips and darted glances up and down the side street. Slowly, he took a step out of the darkened alley into the half-lit byway. The light didn’t seem to bother him, even though extreme photosensitivity was one of the early symptoms of the clockwork plague. As Alice watched, some of his sores stopped weeping. He gave a little moan that Alice could only describe as happy and he lurched toward the entrance of the street, where the market lay. The second zombie had vanished back into the shadows. Before Alice quite realized what was happening, the first zombie entered the square. Full sunlight fell across his face, probably for the first time in months, and he lifted his eyes to the sky in exultation.

A woman screamed, and then another. Shouts and cries erupted all over the market as people scrambled all over themselves to get away. Box stalls tipped under the stampede and wood smashed. Alice only heard-the buildings at the entrance of the side street restricted her view. All she saw was the zombie standing in the sunlight like a misshapen angel, oblivious to the chaos around him.

“Oh dear,” Alice muttered.

“Perhaps we move along now,” Feng said.

Another sound made Alice turn. At the mouth of the alley stood the second zombie. With him was a crowd of others-males, females, children. All of them wore torn, filthy rags that dripped blood and pus. Their skin was as tattered as their clothing. Some were missing fingers or even entire limbs. All of them huddled in the alley, not daring to go into the half-light of the side street. The second zombie, the one Alice had scratched, lifted an arm toward Alice in supplication.

Alice felt abruptly overwhelmed. She couldn’t move or speak. “Oh,” was all she could manage.

“What do we do?” Feng asked.

A small child limped forward, dragging a useless foot. Alice couldn’t even tell if it was a boy or a girl. It held up its arms to Alice like a toddler asking to be picked up. Alice wondered who its parents were, how long it had been on the streets, scrounging for food, spreading disease, hiding from painful daylight in cellars and under dustbins, in pain, wondering what was happening and why no one was helping. She jolted forward.

“I will help you,” she said, addressing the child, but speaking to them all. As gently as she could, she scored the child’s arm and wet the wound with her own blood. The child gasped and lurched backward, then straightened. The cure wouldn’t regrow the bad foot, but at least the disease would stop devouring flesh and bone. Alice didn’t pause. She flicked her claws at the next zombie, and the next, and the next, working her way through the fetid alley in a red haze. The spider grew heavier and heavier, and her arm ached from swinging. The smell of blood hung on the air, mingling with the soft groans and yelps from wounded zombie flesh. Alice’s entire world narrowed to bricks and blood, and she lost all sense of time. She could save them all. Swing, slash, bleed, and move on. Swing, slash, bleed, and move on.

“That was the last one,” Feng was saying. “Alice! You can stop!”

Alice came to herself. The last zombie was shuffling into the light, and the screaming had died down from the marketplace, and whether it was because the people had become tired of running away from zombies or because they had all fled, Alice didn’t know. The strength drained out of her, and Feng caught her before she collapsed.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”

“You helped so many,” Feng said. “That was a fine thing you did.”

“But there are still more. I need to save them.”

“They will be well. The cure will spread to them quickly enough.”

“I’m thirsty.” Alice’s mouth was dry, and her head felt light. “So thirsty.”

She was only vaguely aware of Feng half leading, half carrying her somewhere. Eventually, she found herself sitting at a table with a plate of fruit, bread, and cheese before her and a mug of cider at her elbow. A muscular arm encircled her like a warm wing and drew her close.

“Are you all right?” Gavin demanded.

She leaned in and soaked in his scent, his strength. “Yes. I just needed to eat.”

“I found him at another market,” Feng reported from across the table. “He was unaware that the zombie was your doing.”

“I thought it was a chance event,” Gavin said, “so I moved on to play somewhere else, without all the screaming and stampeding. I had no idea you were in trouble.” His voice was tight with tension.

“I’m fine. Really.” Alice sat up to emphasize her words and noticed for the first time the little tavern where they were sitting. It was low-end, with straw on the wood planks and a bored-looking pair of daughters serving bread and beer drawn by their mother, who held forth behind a scarred bar. Alice, Gavin, and Feng occupied a freestanding table near the fireplace, which was empty this late in summer. The faint smell of dead ashes and old alcohol hung on the air, and the working-class patrons were still talking quietly, not drunk yet. “No need to worry, darling. I was just caught a little off guard. Next time, I’ll know better.”

“Next time?” Gavin echoed. “What next time?”

“Next time I heal people,” she said.

“You’re not going to keep doing this?” he asked incredulously.

She pulled away from him. “Of course I am. I have to help, Gavin. The clockwork plague needs to be cured.”

“That’s what the fireflies are for.”

“Every person I cure is one fewer person who dies,” she said with heat. “I can’t hold it back and wait on the chance that a firefly will bite.”

“And you’re putting yourself in danger!”

“It didn’t seem to be an issue when I came to rescue you !”

“That was low.”

Alice’s voice rose. “No lower than you assuming I can’t take care of myself.”

“Of course you can take care of yourself.” Gavin’s voice rose to match. “It’s why Feng had to carry you in here.”

“I often enjoy it when people stare,” Feng said, “but I believe our plan was to keep to ourselves.”

Most of the customers were indeed staring at them. Alice, who noticed she was on her feet, sank slowly back to her chair. Her claws had pierced the tips of her glove. “I apologize, Mr. Ennock,” she said stiffly.

“Me, too, Miss Michaels.”

They finished eating in silence. Alice kept her eyes on her food and fumed, despite her apology. She had a duty to spread the cure. The plague had made victims of her entire family, ruined her life, and she wasn’t going to let anyone else go through the same thing. Her life was replete with sacrifices to the plague, and at last, at last, she could fight back. Was Gavin trying to control her the way her father and fiance had tried to do? Infuriating! More than that, he was a mere commoner, with no right even to speak to her in such a tone. In some parts of England, a baroness like her could still have him…

. . flogged.

Alice swallowed a bit of carrot without tasting it. Gavin had already been flogged. By the pirates who had captured his airship and shot his best friend and killed his captain. When she embraced him, she could feel the ropy scars through the thin fabric of his shirt. The thought made her ill. He had seen his share of sacrifice. He had already been hurt so badly, and now she was hurting him again. But iron pride stiffened her neck, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to apologize again.