Ex-Communication: A Novel (16 page)

St. George nodded. He glanced at Zzzap.

“This is why you wish us to let Hiram Jarvis reanimate if he dies,” said Stealth. “You wish to use his body and resurrect yourself.”

The speakers were quiet for a moment. “Yeah, that’s basically it,” said the stereo.

“I think maybe we should get Father Andy in on this,” said St. George. “This whole discussion is getting into a weird area.”

“Feel free,” said the speakers. “Nothing against Barry, but I’m feeling very talkative.”

“And then?” Stealth asked.

“Then what?”

“Why return yourself to life only to be mortal and face death again? What do you gain from it?”

“Well, I’m not dead, for starters.”

“Not yet. All of us will face an end, though. Will you then attempt to cheat death again?”

“Believe me, Stealth,” the stereo said, “in the end all of us try to cheat death. I was just better prepared to do it than most folks.”

SINCE THEY’D MOVED
all the Mount’s medical facilities to Hollywood Community, there was plenty of room for Dr. Connolly to have an actual office. There still wasn’t enough of a medical staff for her to be far away from the patients, though, even with Eddie Franklin and some of the others. And being by herself in the mostly empty hospital gave her the creeps at night. Instead, she set up camp at the nurse’s station of whatever floor had the most patients. It was where St. George found her.

“Morning, doctor.”

“Good morning,” she said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I’m visiting some of your patients.”

She nodded. “Eddie’s finishing up some tests with the girl, Madelyn. I should have complete results for you soon.”

“What do you think so far?”

“About her?” Connolly shook her head and swept back a lock of crimson hair threaded with silver. “I can tell you I might have been wrong earlier. I don’t think she’s an ex.”

“What?”

“I don’t think she’s an ex. She’s just … dead.”

“But she has to be,” said St. George. “She’s walking around and she—”

The doctor shook her head. “I’ve run her blood work twice. I can’t find the ex-virus in her. Not a trace of it anywhere. Not
a trace of anything, in fact. No secondary infections, no old scars, nothing. My first impression is she’s in incredible health.”

“Aside from being dead.”

“Aside from that, yes. She just seems like a normal seventeen-year-old girl in so many ways. Did you know she sleeps?”

“What?”

The doctor nodded. “Twice now. She got tired and fell asleep the night you brought her in. When she woke up later I had to explain where she was and who I was. Last night she stretched out on the bed, wrapped her arms around her pillow to cry for a few minutes, and she was out cold. No pun intended. And when she woke up a few hours ago she didn’t know who I was again. Or where she was.” Connolly paused. “Or that her parents were dead.”

St. George sighed. “Yeah, she said she had some memory problems.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” said the doctor. “Captain Freedom sat with her and went over the whole thing again. I think it might’ve been harder on him than her, watching her go through it all again.”

“Crap.”

“It’s not too surprising, to be honest.” Connolly gestured at a chart on the counter. “I hooked her up to an EEG the first night before she fell asleep. Even exes give off basic readings. There’s still electrical activity in their brains, it’s just very, very low. Below comatose levels.”

“And Madelyn?”

“Her readings aren’t that different from your standard ex-human. I’m sure a specialist could spot some little nuances, but nothing stood out for me. Stealth might want to take a look.”

“Okay.”

The doctor held up a finger. “Then she fell asleep. Her EEG went to a complete flatline.”

“Flatline meaning …?”

“Meaning corpse. I got nothing from her. Absolutely nothing.
A potato would give me more responses. It was more like she died—really died—than fell asleep.”

“Is that what messes up her memories?”

“Maybe.” Another shrug. “I don’t know how she even has thoughts, let alone memories. Her brain completely shuts off when she sleeps. Her blood isn’t circulating. Preliminary results from her tissue samples indicate her muscles aren’t manufacturing lactic acid. Every test I know how to do says she’s just … dead. I have no idea how she’s thinking or talking or moving around.” She shrugged. “Then again, I have no idea how you can fly. I’ve gotten used to things I can’t explain.”

“Great.”

“One more thing,” said Connolly. “She’s been in a mild degree of pain because of lividity. Most of her blood’s all pooled up in her feet and legs. I’d like to sever the arteries in her ankles and drain it off. It should take care of her pain issues and give me more material for further tests.”

St. George’s eyes went wide. “You’re going to drain off her blood?”

“It’s the easiest solution I can think of.”

“Won’t that …” He stopped himself.

Connolly smirked. “She’s already dead. It shouldn’t have any effect at all.”

He frowned. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s dead, George. They did cover it in medical school.”

He drummed his fingers on the counter. “How’s Jarvis?”

The shift threw her for a moment, and then her face dropped. “Not good,” she said. “He’s on antibiotics right now, but there’s at least three symptoms they’re not affecting at all. I’m still waiting on blood work to figure out how many infections he’s got so I can start targeting them better.”

“How long will that take?”

She sighed. “Longer than he’s got.” She shook her head.
“I’m sorry. You know how this works. There’s just nothing else I can do.”

“How long’s he got?”

“A day at the most. I’m amazed he lasted this long.” She looked at her watch. “It’s been almost forty-two hours since he was bitten. That’s practically a record.”

“Is he awake?”

Connolly nodded.

Jarvis looked dead. A web of wires and tubes ran like mechanical ivy from his chest and arms to the machines around him. His face was dry and pale enough that in places it blurred with the white and silver speckled in his beard and scalp. It made his hair look thin. Where he wasn’t pale his neck and arms had patches of dark pink rash spotted with red. Something yellow clotted in the corners of his eyes. St. George could see it on the older man’s mouth, too, even through the oxygen mask. The inside of the mask was flecked with blood.

St. George took in a breath. “How you doing, Jarvis?”

His eyes fluttered open and he lifted his thumb. “Peachy-keen, boss,” he coughed. It was a wet sound that rattled in his chest and throat. “Thought the end of the world couldn’t get any better. Then y’all went and got me this comfy bed. And a cute nurse.”

“Is there anything I can get for you? Something from your place?”

His head shifted side to side on the pillow.

St. George looked down at the man in the bed. “I’m sorry.”

“Weren’t your fault, boss. Don’t worry about it.”

“I should’ve been there.”

“You were there,” he wheezed. “Just too much going on. It happens.” He reached out and grabbed the hero’s hand.

“It shouldn’t.”

“It does,” said the older man. “Life’s a bitch and then you die.”

The hero took in another breath. “Look,” he said, “Dr. Connolly … she’s done all she can.”

Jarvis closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. He let out a long, rasping cough that left more spots on the inside of his oxygen mask. “I figured as much. Seen too many bites to think mine’d be special. How long I got?”

St. George gave the man’s hand a gentle squeeze. He stuck his free hand in his pocket. A streamer of smoke curled up out of his nose.

Jarvis let out a tired sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “I figured.”

A moment passed. The machines linked to Jarvis beeped and blinked in a way St. George thought was too cheerful.

“I’ve got something to ask you,” he said. “A favor.”

Jarvis smiled and coughed again. “Not much I can do right now, boss.”

“I know. It’s what you can do after.”

The salt-and-pepper man’s face lost its smile. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

St. George drummed his fingers against his thigh. “We need a body,” he said. “A fresh one.”

Jarvis waved his hand at his leg. “This one’s not too fresh,” he said. “And it’s going to be walking around soon.”

“I know. That’s part of what we need.”

Jarvis coughed and his eyes lost focus for a moment above the oxygen mask. “We said no one comes back,” he wheezed.

“I know,” said St. George. “That’s why we’re talking about it. If you say no, we’ll make sure you don’t walk.”

“Why do you need me? Need my body?”

The hero tried to think how to explain it. “If we can use your body,” he said, “we might be able to save someone.”

“Someone,” Jarvis said, “but not me.”

St. George opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
Another line of smoke spiraled out of his nostrils. “Yeah,” he said. “Not you.”

The older man had another coughing fit. This one coated the inside of the oxygen mask with red and a few black lumps. He grabbed at the rails of the hospital bed to hold himself steady and the machines scolded him with a chorus of beeps. St. George pulled a few tissues from a box near the bed and wiped out the inside of the mask. He tried not to look at the stuff on the tissues as he settled the mask back in place.

Jarvis took a few slow breaths. His watery eyes found St. George. “Do you think exes remember stuff?”

“Stealth’s pretty sure they—”

“Don’t care what she thinks, boss. Want to know what you think. You believe all these nuts, that there’s still people inside the exes?”

St. George thought about the talking stereo back on Stage Four.

“No,” he said. “I think people move on. I don’t know where they go, if they go anywhere, but they’re not in there.” He squeezed Jarvis’s hand again. “They’re gone.”

For a moment neither of them spoke.

“Before all this,” the salt-and-pepper man said, “I had a cat. Really old thing. Had her forever. Pretty much my only friend. She got sick about a year before all the zombie stuff went down. Stopped eating, started starving. I couldn’t even afford to put her to sleep. Had to watch her twist up and spasm and die in my lap.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah,” said Jarvis, “it was. I cried like a girl for about three hours straight afterward. But in a way, I was kind of glad. I didn’t have to make the decision to put her to sleep. I knew I was too scared to make it. What if she was going to get better? What if I was betraying her somehow? I wasn’t brave enough for that call.”

“You’re brave when you need to be.”

“No,” said Jarvis. “I’m really not.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Do it,” he said. He bit back a cough. “If it can save someone else, y’all can do what you need to with my body. I give permission or whatever.”

“You sure?”

“Boss, if you say it’s the right thing, I trust you.”

“St. George,” echoed a voice in his earbud. “Legion’s at the South Wall, maybe two blocks from the southeast corner. About three hundred exes. With ladders.”

He sighed. “Copy that,” he said into his mic. He looked at Jarvis. “I have to go. Trouble.”

Jarvis squeezed his hand. “It’s been an honor, St. George,” the older man said. “Thanks for everything.”

“I’ll be back,” he said. “I’ll get back before …”

“Just walk away, boss. Y’all can let me fake being brave one more time.”

“Bye, Jarvis.”

“Bye, boss. Go save the day.”