Chapter Twenty-Seven
WE LIVE INSIDE A FISHBOWL, a drained lake three hundred and fifty feet below the rest of the undead world—and Chief lives in a house built into one of the bowl’s curved sides.
His hobbit-like house is a skin transplant, a patch that doesn’t belong in the sloping hill.
But it blends in enough, with grass and kudzu taking over the stone.
“I need the story behind this,” I say to Jasper as we stand outside the entrance. Even the door is round, the wood polished to an outlandish degree. “Tolkien fan?”
Jasper looks away. Sunlight casts gold streaks in his brown hair. I wonder what color his hair was as a child. “He was a builder before Z Day. Did you know he was the first one here, in the Split?”
“How would I know that? It’s not like I’ve got a lot of friends around here.”
He shrugs.
After this morning’s disastrous hostage negotiation, Jasper insisted I return to his place while he and Greeley go to Chief’s house to discuss Macoby’s next move.
I said, respectfully, I think the fuck not.
No longer will others call the shots for me.
I will be an active participant in my life, whether the Mac Dream Team likes it or not.
Jasper looks off into the distance, his attention focused on a wispy white cloud.
I say, “Looks like a chicken foot,” and my words don’t even get a smile out of him. “There’s more you’re not telling me.”
“Chief’s son was a Tolkien fan.”
I grab his arm, force him to look me in the eye. “His son? What happened to him? And don’t you dare say you’ll tell me later.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth.”
“So find some new ones.” He looks down at my hand. I let go of his arm. “Please.”
“Fine, but not here. Come with me.”
This time, it’s Jasper who tugs me. He gently guides me by the elbow toward a tree looming over its anemic neighbor.
Its veined roots wrap like tentacles around the base of the smaller, limp tree.
Sucking out the nutrients. Feeding on its sap organs.
Soon, zomtrees will take over. Soon, we’ll all suffocate.
“Chief should cut that down,” I say. Even the grass around the tree is brittle and dry.
“We’re running an experiment.”
“Take it that’s another thing you’ll tell me about later?”
“Chief’s son was named Macoby. He was six years old, and he died on Z Day—got stuck in crossfire. There, are you happy?”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback.
So that’s where the name came from . . .
“And Chief couldn’t save his son, but he can still save Eagan and Garrett.
That’s part of the reason he wants them back so desperately.
He sees it as his life’s mission to protect the people of Macoby, and he needs them back to prove he can.
The moment people lose faith in Chief is when this all blows up in our face. ”
“Hate to break it to you,” I say, “but something did blow up today.”
Jasper shakes his head. “There’s never been trust between Macoby and Egal . . . but there’s always been trust between the citizens of each side.”
He’s right. I trusted Chandler, and I trusted Peter, even to a fault.
I sigh and point to a few half-filled mason jars scattered on the ground. “So what’s with the jam jars? Do they have something to do with letting the zomtree live?”
“We’re hoping there’s a way to save the tree being overtaken by the zomtree.”
“There’s no way to save a human bitten by a zombie. Why would you think trees are any different?”
“I don’t,” Jasper says, meeting my eyes. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Chandler took Eagan and Garrett for their scholarly backgrounds.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
Jasper sits on the yellow grass and pats the ground next to him. “Here, sit.”
I cross my arms. “Is this where you tell me something else that’s going to change my entire belief system?”
Jasper quirks an eyebrow. “Have I done that?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then probably, yeah,” he says, playing with a piece of grass.
I sigh and pop a squat next to him. Jasper says, “Stick a finger into the ground. Just—come on, Kota, entertain me for a second. Thanks. Feel the damp soil? That’s water—the one thing that connects us all.
The animals, the plants, us. Greeley seems to think that water is the key to curing the virus. ”
I narrow my eyes. “Why would anyone trust what Greeley has to say, of all people?”
“She was a scientist.”
“Right. She screamed that loud enough for my dead parents to hear in their graves.”
“Kota.”
“Coping. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Jasper says sternly. He looks like he means it, too. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“Yeah, well, so have you.”
And I don’t see you deflecting like your life depends on it.
I clear my throat. “Back to Greeley. You were saying?”
Jasper raises his eyebrows, but drops the subject. He clasps his hands together. “Before Z Day, Greeley ran a chemistry research program at Furman University.”
I gasp. “But she’s so young.”
Jasper nods. “Thirty-two.”
“And she’s so . . . Greeley.”
“Greeley’s the smartest person I know,” Jasper says without hesitation. “When Greeley came to Macoby, she wanted to keep researching. Eagan and Garrett volunteered to be her assistants—if for no other reason than to have a purpose.”
“I understand.” And I do. Bunny and Grandma are my purpose. My life means nothing without them.
I wonder what Jasper’s purpose is.
Jasper speaks before I can give the thought attention.
“The three of them took routine trips up Paris Mountain to collect water from waterfalls and small lakes untouched by the virus-tinged bombs. That’s when Chandler snatched Garrett and Eagan—just to piss Greeley off, I think.
” Jasper falls quiet and yanks a wad of grass out of the earth.
I inhale and the fresh smell of soil fills my nose.
“You don’t think Chandler took them to conduct her own research?”
Jasper laughs, but the sound is hollow, broken. “Oh, I think she’s using them for research.”
“What do you mean?” I prod. He won’t look at me. I grip his arm. “What aren’t you saying, Jasper?”
“I believe Chandler is experimenting on them,” Jasper says, finally meeting my gaze.
My heart plummets. No.
No is what I want to believe. No is what I want to say.
But the word dies on my tongue. Could Chandler be so cruel?
I go down the list: Chandler rations the insulin of a diabetic child.
Chandler forces an arthritic old woman to cook all day long.
Chandler refuses to take back a loyal citizen, treating me like trash.
Chandler refuses to take care of her own people.
So why would she take care of her enemies?
Uniformity fosters unity.
Chandler has a purpose. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do to succeed.
Jasper’s touch is warm as he pries my hand off his arm and pulls it into his. “Come on,” he says, his voice soft. “Chief’s expecting us.”