“That should make you happy,” I said.
“Once and for all, I had no idea the drug would do that to them,” he said. “I did not. I thought it might help. That’s all. We can argue it all day if you like, but right now we have greater matters at hand.”
“Namely Keller wanting more smart dead people?”
“He’s going to try to weaponize them,” Renati said. “He will. I guarantee it.”
“Weaponize the zombies?” I asked. “He already has. Down at the park.”
“No, not just those poor husks with blades tied to their hands. He wants thinking dead.”
I tried to imagine Alyssa being turned into some kind of superweapon, and couldn’t see it. She could barely walk in a straight line. How could anyone expect her to be a killer?
Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
I looked at the faces of the men in here with me, and knew they were thinking the same thing.
“We’re putting a stop to it,” Logan said.
Of course you are.
“Sure,” I said. “You and what army?” I had always wanted to say that.
“Us and this army.” Logan gestured to the three of us.
I turned around to make sure he didn’t have other soldiers tucked into dark corners. When I confirmed that we were indeed the army he referenced, I nodded. “Right, well, you guys have fun with that.” I stretched my hand for the door.
“Keller sent around a pamphlet this morning,” Renati said. “There’s going to be an event at the park on Saturday. Some sort of festival to honor our survival thus far, and the great new world we’re creating. Featuring fighting, of course.”
Great new world. “More like grave new world,” I muttered. I stared at the door. He was trying to tell me something, I was sure of it, but I could not for the life of me figure out what.
Maybe the evil stardust had clogged my brain.
“Everyone will be there. Everyone important,” Logan emphasized. “Keller. His commanders. The people who are doing all of…all of this.”
All the people we hate right now, in one wonderful place. “Sounds like a party.”
“Show her the paper.”
Renati fumbled with something. Paper crumpled, and then he stepped closer to me, holding out a white piece of card stock. Red splotches dripped across it: fake blood, rendered poorly on what was probably an old inkjet printer. It promised games, gladiators, and a sneak peek at a weapon that would keep Hastings safe against future invaders.
It was also horribly laid out. Someone had clearly just stretched out text boxes, not particularly caring how the text looked. Bad font choice, too.
“Fire the art director,” I said. “They did a shitty job.”
“I don’t think she wants to help,” Logan said.
“Help you what? Kill Keller? Is that it?” The puzzle they were so clumsily laying out in front of me finally came together, and rather than fire my spirit, it just made me angry. Sure, now they wanted to do something. I turned around and shoved the invitation back at Renati. “Yeah, I heard it. The head honchos are all in one place. Great time for a dirty bomb.” I snapped my fingers in faux dismay. “Oh, shucks, knew I left something at the office.”
The men regarded me. If they seemed surprised by the venom in my tone, they didn’t let on.
“Killing,” Renati said, “I didn’t say killing.”
“Well, what else were you alluding to? Giving him a lapdance? Bit difficult for me to get close to him now, isn’t it?” I turned for the door again. “He’s trying to keep the peace here. I’m sure he—”
“You’re sure he means well? Yes, of course he does. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and to quote the good bard, we are creeping up on the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out.”
He didn’t have to say anything more for me to understand what he meant: And you can help stop it. Well, maybe. At least, I hoped that was what he meant. I was fairly well-equipped to deal with zombies, but witches and hell itself coming out of churchyards seemed rather a tall order.
Still I didn’t answer them. Refused to commit myself to whatever insane cause they thought I ought to champion.
“He’s going to throw your friends into that arena-thing he’s trying to put together,” Logan said. He started to shift around on the counter, then realized he was about to knock over one of the microscopes. So he slid off it, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and came toward me, hands held out in a vaguely beseeching manner. “He’ll call them traitors from the outside and give them swords or sticks, if they’re lucky, and then the undead will swarm them. People are going to love it.”