Derek Goodman - The Reanimation of Edward Schuett

Edward got up to take a closer look at it. It was longer than he was tall and held up by a stand connected to the back, but for all its size it didn’t look heavy. He took a look at it from the side and was shocked to see it was nearly paper-thin. There was a small bulge on the side that he couldn’t identify, but there was a slot in it for something.

“I’ve got some other things for you, too.” Edward finally looked at her and realized she had a folder in her hands. “Now, I hope you realize how tough it was for me to get this first thing. I had to do a lot of research on your time, and I had to find some archive somewhere that actually had these recordings.” She opened up the folder just enough to pull out a small disk about the size of a golf ball with a hole in the center, then slid it into the slot on the television. The screen turned itself on, and despite its apparent lack of speakers the television suddenly blared the sound of cars speeding around a raceway. Edward backed away and gaped at the image.

“Oh my God. Is this what I think it is?”

“This is the last NASCAR race ever recorded,” Liddie said. “It would have been the day after you were bitten, if my research is right. Despite the spreading infection, some people tried to pretend that life was going on as normal. You can see in the stands that there are fewer people, but the race wasn’t interrupted at all. It was a long time before the Uprising was under enough control that organized sports events started up again, but by then there was a fuel shortage problem. NASCAR never made a comeback. But there is at least this. I even know who won, but I’ll let you find that out for yourself. I’ve got recordings of other races, too, although those you might have seen.”

Edward smiled as he saw the familiar number 88 race around the track. “It’s great. Thank you. Makes it feel a little more like home.”

“Well, that’s not really the most important thing. There’s something else. Something important.”

“What is it?”

“You really need to sit down for this.”

Edward shrugged and went for the couch. Liddie lightly touched the edge of the TV screen. He thought maybe she was going to turn it off so they could talk in quiet, but it sounded like the TV got louder instead. It wasn’t a lot, and maybe she hadn’t even done it on purpose, but it was strange enough that he took note of it.

Liddie took a place next to him on the couch, sitting closer to him than she usually did, and he had a sudden uncomfortable feeling. Ever since the Walmart, people had done their best to stay as far away from him as possible. Liddie hadn’t gone to the extremes that some others had, but she still hadn’t let herself get this close before.

She took a deep breath before she opened the folder. “Dana Schuett. Born June 10, 2004. Died April 29, 2055.”

Edward’s heart missed a beat.

Liddie’s voice wavered as she spoke. “It took some time to find all this. Take a look in the folder and you’ll see everything we discovered.” She handed him the folder. He took it with shaking hands and looked at the first item. It was a printout of an obituary. The photo wasn’t very clear, and at first he didn’t understand he was supposed to be looking at his daughter. But it had to be her. She had his prominent chin, although her mother’s high cheekbones were no longer so noticeable. She was also in her fifties.

“You can see from the obituary that she changed her name. That’s because she got married when she was in her twenties, although the ways to make it federally recognized didn’t exist again until she was thirty one.” She paused. “And you can see at the bottom of the page that you were listed as having passed before she did.”

Edward wasn’t interested in that so much at the moment. He had just found out that his daughter had lived through the worst of the Uprising, had even gotten married and maybe even had children of her own. Did that mean he had grandchildren out there somewhere? But even as these questions went through his mind, his eyes still went to the bottom of the page like she had said.

For the second time in less than a minute it felt like his heart stopped. This time, however, it was not out of joy. Someone—he had to assume it was Liddie—had written something there in a clear feminine hand but with tiny letters. They were so small he could barely read them, but they were there:

Everything in this file is fake .

Before he had time to say anything she reached over and flipped to another sheet of paper. “You can see here that we found hospital records indicating she gave birth at least once, but elsewhere in the file you’ll see where we think we have evidence she had at least one other child before they started keeping records again.” She pointed at a place on the paper near the bottom, just above another tiny note:

They’re watching. Pretend you believe everything I say .

Edward knew he should speak, but he didn’t know what would sound convincing. He wasn’t even entirely sure yet what was going on. Either the things she was saying or the things she had written down were a lie, but he was too shocked to come to any other logical conclusions.

“So, um, what did she die of?” he asked. He hoped he sounded sufficiently choked up. It wasn’t exactly an act.

Liddie’s voice was quiet and unsteady. Edward realized now why she had turned up the volume on the television. She wanted to cover up any flaw in her performance for the security cameras.

“Here. We were able to obtain a copy of the death certificate.” She turned to another page. This time she didn’t need to direct him where to look for the next message.

They’re doing this to get your cooperation. They have no intention of looking for any real evidence. You have to pretend this all satisfies you for now .

He forced himself to look at the fake death certificate. “Accidently killed by friendly fire when her husband was defending their home against an undead attack?” he asked. He felt sick. They had wanted to make it look real, he understood that, but if they were going to give him the false fate of his daughter couldn’t they have at least made it a less bloody and painful death?

“Yes. I’m sorry,” Liddie said. Edward looked up at her. She really did sound sorry. In fact, her eyes looked a little watery. That could have just been part of the act for the cameras, but he found himself meeting her gaze. Her eyes didn’t waver. He thought she honestly was sorry, sorry for being a part of tricking him, maybe sorry for playing with his feelings.

Or maybe he was reading the wrong things into it. For all he knew this was all some complex mind game, another experiment to determine how inhuman he was.

“We know that at least her youngest child is still alive,” Liddie said, gesturing for him to turn to the next page. “So you’re a grandpa.” This sheet was intended to look like an article from a Wisconsin news site. The article was text heavy, but a small portion had been highlighted for his benefit. His granddaughter, the one that didn’t exist, had apparently been named to her school’s honor roll. Underneath, it said:

Rip off these messages as soon as you can and destroy them. Be careful you’re not seen .

Edward nodded. “This…this is a lot to think about. I think I need some time to sort this all out in my head, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” she said. She started to get up, but he touched her arm before she could.

“Liddie, I suppose I should thank whoever did this.”

“I’ll make sure they know,” Liddie said. She hesitated, then leaned in and gave him a hug. She kept her mouth close to his head, presumably where none of the cameras could see her speak, and whispered into his ear. “I swear to God I will help you find out what really happened to her.”