Charlie Huston - Already Dead - A Novel

I sit up.

— Yeah, Tom, let's explore some options.

He turns back to me.

— You just shut up, Pitt. You want to stay alive, you just shut up until someone tells you to speak. You got practice shutting up, taking all those orders from the Coalition. I look at Terry.

— Hey, Terry, what are you doing letting this kid run around loose, anyway? People could get hurt.

I look at Tom again.

— He could get hurt.

Tom makes a move at me, but Terry and Lydia pull him back. I sit on the cot being bored. Some people's buttons are so easy to punch it's barely worth the effort. Terry and Lydia get Tom into a chair. Lydia stays next to him while Terry walks over and drops down on the cot, a big smile on his face.

— Tom's a hothead, Joe, we all know that, it only takes the slightest provocation to set him off. But we're adults here, so what say we put aside the immature mind games and name-calling and just have a little communication, air things out?

— How 'bout you buzz off and show me to the door so I can go about my business.

Terry shakes his head sadly.

— In a perfect world, that's what I'd like to do. After all, it was never my plan that you get dragged here, but here you are, and I have to say that as hostile as Tom is toward you, he does raise some valid points. So I think, and this is just me talking, but I think there is a real need here for some open and honest communication.

I start to get up.

— So sit here and communicate, Terry Me, I got places to be, so I'll just be on my way.

Terry puts an oh so gentle hand on my forearm.

— Sorry, Joe, but there really are some questions I need to have answered.

He tilts his head in the direction of the stairs and Hurley steps out of the shadows. How the fuck I missed Hurley is a tribute to my lack of awareness. The guy is a giant. Really. Six eight and over three-fifty. And on top of that he just happens to be one of us. So what you got here is your basic gargantuan Irish Vampyre. Oh, and he's retarded. I shouldn't say that. What I mean is he's dumb as a sack of hammers. Whether he's actually retarded, I don't know.

I sit back down.

— Sure thing, Terry. You got questions. Shoot.

Terry smiles and nods.

— See, man, that's the way it should be, just two guys sitting and talking. People, people talking about their problems with each other, finding solutions. If everybody could do this, if we could get the world together like this, we could change everything, man. Like, for instance, my problem is this thing last night, this whole hassle over at the, well it used to be a community center, man, but pretty soon it's gonna be another yuppie co-op. But anyway, this thing over at the old center, this hassle with the kids and the zombies.

Tom jumps out of his chair.

— That's what I'm talking about, that right there. We rejected that term, man. We voted. They're not zombies. That belittles their status as victims, man. They're infected, not in control of themselves, and creeps like this stooge are still going around slaughtering them.

Terry bobs his head.

— Well, you have a point there, Tom, the term zombie does put the onus for their actions on them and implies blame. So what was the term?

— VOZ. Victim of Zombification.

Lydia finally pipes in.

— I'm still opposed to the use of the word victim. It suggests weakness, helplessness.

Terry holds up his hand.

— I think you may be right there, Lydia. But for now, as regards the conversation I'm having here with Joe, could we agree that VOZ is a valid term?

Tom and Lydia look at one another and nod.

— Good, good. See, Joe, people solving problems. So anyway, this hassle with the NYU students and the VOZs. Something like that happening right in our backyard is cause for concern. We can't really afford that kind of noise when we're trying so hard to integrate into the community, you know? So what can you tell me, you know anything about all this?

I sigh with regret and shake my head.

— Sorry, Terry, wish I could help you, but I really don't know anything.

Tom is back on his feet.

— Bullshit! Bullshit! He was there, man. He was poking around when I got there with Hurley to take a look. So what were you doing there, stooge? What were you doing there?

— He has a point, Joe, what were you doing there tonight?

— Same as you guys, taking a look. I live down here too, and I've done as much as anyone to keep this neighborhood a quiet place; more than my fair share. Do I do some favors for the Coalition? You know I do. Just like I do favors for the Society when you ask me. This thing last night, that kind of mess is bad for all of us. So yeah, after the cops cleared out I went over there to take a look.

— And what did you find?

— Well I don't know, Terry, I didn't really find anything. Which is not to say I wouldn't have found something if this joker hadn't popped up and had Hurley clock me. Far as I know it's like the cops said and that kid Singh did it.

— Really? Does that sound reasonable to you? I mean, knowing what we know about the world and the way it works? I mean, being an open-minded kind of guy, does that sound like a reasonable story?

I look him in the eye.

— Terry, I got no reason to lie. Far as I know the kid did it. But could this be, and this is what I think you're asking, could this be a Coalition deal? A setup? Well you know as well as I do it could be. Hell, it could be a Coalition op all the way down the line from the zombies.

— VOZs, please.

— Right, from the VOZs right down to the frame on the kid. But as far as I know. .

— It's just like the cops say.

— Far as I know.

Terry looks down at the floor and nods his head.

— Well, Joe, that's fair enough. I respected you and asked you a straightforward question, and I can only hope that you've respected me and given me an honest answer.

— You know how I feel about you, Terry.

A slight smile visits his mouth and he looks at me from the corner of his eye.

— Yeah, I guess I do at that.

He gets up off the cot and gestures toward the door.

— Well that's it, you can take off.

I get up and brush off the seat of my pants as I head for the door.

— You mind if I get my guns back before I go?

— Hurley has them. He'll walk you out and give them to you on the street.

— Thanks.

Tom is glaring at me.

— That's it? We're letting him go after that lame bullshit?

— We're letting him go because it is not our nature to hold people against their will, Tom.

— But he knows something. Look at him, he's gloating. He knows something and he's making fun of us right now.

I glance at Tom as I walk past him.

— What's eating you, Tom? Still can't find a vegan substitute for blood?

He lunges at me and Lydia throws an arm bar on him. She locks him up tight and looks at me, tsk-tsking her head back and forth.

— Tacky, Joe.

— Yeah, well.

I'm halfway up the stairs, Hurley behind me, when Terry calls after.

— By the way, what happened to your face?

— Rolled out of bed this morning and pulled open the curtain. Don't know what it is, I just keep thinking I'm still alive or something.

— Be careful about that, Joe. Thinking like that, it gets us dead.

— So I hear.

Then I'm through the basement door, into the hallway, and out onto the street, Hurley right behind me. We're on Avenue D between 5th and 6th. Hurley starts walking north toward 6th and I follow him.

— So how 'bout my guns, Hurley?

— Terry says I gotta walk ya a ways first.

— OK.

We turn west onto 6th.

— Sorry 'bout clobber'n ya from behind an all.

— Yeah, sure.