Chapter Twenty-One #3
I duck my chin. “So…put that in handsome-film-professor terms.”
Gemma stops and faces me with a patient smile.
“The virus is just one part, Everett. A normal, albeit highly contagious variant of the norovirus. When this version encounters a catalyst in the host’s blood, it goes nuclear, killing the host and reanimating the body with minimal brain-stem activation.
We understand the virus now, but it’s the catalyst that makes it fatal, and trying to isolate and identify it is like guessing the right number of jelly beans in a nearly infinite jar.
” Gemma blows out a burst of breath, uncharacteristically stymied by this problem. “It could be anything.”
For as long as I’ve known Gemma, she’s either had all the answers or had the confidence to know she’d find them soon. So it is with no small amount of relish that I pluck the folder of patents from the Oval Office out of my bag and dangle them over her head now.
“About that…what if I told you that we snooped through the Oval Office and found a stack of patents with some classified documents about the zombie outbreak?”
Gemma’s eyes go wide, and she begins to jump and swat at my hand. “Everett! Give those to me right now!”
“Ah, ah, ah!” I coo. “Say please!”
“Fine! Please stop being such a goddamn toenail of a human! Please don’t make me kill you!”
But Maisie comes up behind me, silent as a cat, and runs a finger down my side, tickling me so badly I drop the folder. Gemma scoops it up and runs away, laughing as she thumbs through the papers inside like the little mad scientist that she is.
“Oh, is that how it is? You know Gemma for ten minutes and you’re already on her side?
” I wrap an arm around Maisie’s lower back, bringing her in close, and press my forehead down to hers, smiling.
I don’t even think about it—the movement, the flirting, the casual touch has become so natural.
I like it too much, this blend of my worlds.
My beloved sister meeting my love Maisie.
Them teaming up to annoy the shit out of me.
Ah, heaven.
Maisie’s pretty cheeks flush apricot. “Uh, um. Everett?”
“Mm?” My eyes have slid closed, the rest of my body tightening, too, in anticipation of hers.
“Son.” The word is a decree. A title and deed. Ownership and entitlement drips from it down the back of my neck. I freeze in place.
My fingers slide off Maisie’s back and fall to my sides. I straighten on instinct, then pivot. Colonels Hank and Irene Greer stand before me in full olive-green uniforms, stiff as trees.
“Mother.” I blink. “Fath—”
They barrel toward me and grab me into a big, squeezing hug.
“You’re alive!”
Maisie
“Come on,” Gemma leans in and whispers to me, pulling me with one hand and Ellie with the other. “They’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Louder, Gemma says, “Mom, Dad, I’m taking Maisie and Ellie up to their barracks so they can rest.”
“We thought you were dead!” Everett’s father says, his rough, stern voice broken into pieces. “You weren’t there where we told you to be! You weren’t—”
“We were kidnapped!” Everett explains for the second time, helpless in what appears to be a crushing parental embrace. “I tried to show up!”
“Tell me who!” his mother says, just as aggrieved as his father. “Who did it?! I’ll rip them to—”
“O-kay.” Gemma quickly ushers us toward the large stone building ahead. “No need to hear the rest of that particular sentiment. Mom has a very graphic imagination.”
I glance back over my shoulder, and Everett meets my eyes, looking vaguely desperate during his mother’s ongoing rant of death threats.
“Will he be okay?”
“You know, I’m starting to think he will.” Gemma gives me a small, knowing smile, then squeezes my arm. Within the monolith of Washington Hall, Gemma leads us up wide flights of stairs past sets of cadets stationed at each floor, who nod as she passes.
“This is the family floor,” Gemma explains as we finally stop at the fifth landing. “My parents’ apartment is just down the hall. Mine is that way.” She points in the other direction with a wink to Ellie, who, flustered, salutes her.
I have to say, it’s refreshing to know other awkward women.
Gemma waves the folders containing the patents. “I have a feeling these are very important, so I’m going to dive in. If you need anything, tell a cadet to contact me—I’ll be in my lab. See you for dinner.” She returns a coy little salute to Ellie, then hustles back downstairs.
“God, scientists are so hot,” Ellie murmurs, then disappears dreamily into the barracks across the hall.
I close the door to my own surprisingly nice, if spare, little apartment.
After the world’s craziest week, I’m finally alone.
The return to solitude is almost surreal as I walk over to the small desk where some cadet has helpfully set up my ham radio.
It’s too quiet in here, and as I pet one of Walter’s long vines, I wish it was Chicken’s sleek, purring head instead.
But last I saw the cat, she was yowling in the middle of an Everett/colonels sandwich.
I sigh, a little smile lifting my mouth.
I’m glad she’s with Everett for what’s sure to be a difficult conversation with his parents.
But then, my smile falters, because I can’t put it off any longer. It’s time for my own difficult conversation.
I sink down onto the desk chair, flip the power on, and tune the dial to our frequency—the same one we’ve used for the last six years. It’s been two days since our fight. Two days since I heard Gramps’s booming laugh and the splintery scrape of his clearing throat. His concern for me.
His hurt.