MARIA SAT ON THE CURB BESIDE THE WALK-UP CHECKPOINT booth. She huddled there, her chin resting on a pink backpack propped in her lap. I called her name. Her head snapped in my direction, and she jumped up and ran to me. She hugged me like she hadn’t seen me in years.
“Boston’s big,” she said, her face pressed into my shoulder. “It didn’t look so big when my class took a field trip to the aquarium.”
“No worries.” I kept my voice light. “I know my way around.”
As if suddenly remembering she was almost a teenager, not a scared little kid, she unwrapped her arms from my waist and stepped back. But she stayed close as I talked to the checkpoint guard.
“You live in DA-1?” the guard said, looking at my ID. “You can’t take her in there, you know. She doesn’t have the paperwork.”
“Fine with me.” I had no intention of escorting my niece through the zombie-filled streets, even though most of the zombies were home sleeping off the excitement of their protest. “We’ll stay on the human side.”
The guard swiped my card and squinted at his computer screen. He tapped some keys, then tapped a few more. I put my arm around Maria’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. She stood as stiff and rigid as a concrete pillar.
I thought the guard would insist on calling Maria’s parents, but he didn’t. He seemed more interested in getting the problem of an unaccompanied minor off his desk than in making sure she got home safely. When the database confirmed I was family, he printed out two papers and pushed them over for me to sign. One was an application for a permit to leave Deadtown under code-red restrictions. The other document stated that I was Maria’s aunt and accepted responsibility for her.
The guard stamped the application and printed out a permit, which he instructed me to keep with me at all times. He nodded at me, indicating we were free to go. The problem was out of his hair.
I hoisted Maria’s backpack over my left shoulder and hugged her close with my right arm. She was still stiff, but she relaxed a little against me.
“You must be hungry,” I said. “How about some ice cream?” It was one of those March days that made you think maybe winter would loosen its hold before too much longer. Not hot enough to be real ice-cream weather, but with enough promise of future warmth to make ice cream seem like a pretty good idea.
Maria started to shake her head, her eyes clouded with apprehension, but she changed her mind and nodded. Her lips curved a little, but the half-smile didn’t push away the worry.
I kept my arm loosely around her shoulders as we walked the block or so to the ice-cream parlor. Neither of us said anything, but my mind roiled with questions. Foremost among them: Why on earth had Maria skipped school to try to visit me in Deadtown? And why didn’t she want me to call Gwen?
Inside the shop, smells of coffee and vanilla greeted us. I moved toward the soda fountain–style counter. With its spinning stools, it was always the kids’ favorite place to sit. But Maria stopped in the middle of the room. “Can we sit over there?” she asked, nodding toward a booth.
“Sure. Wherever you’d like.”
When the waitress came over to take our order, Maria glanced at me, uncertain. So instead of getting a cup of coffee as I’d intended, I ordered a hot fudge sundae. Might as well pretend we were having fun until Maria was ready to open up. She ordered a sundae with chocolate ice cream and peanut butter sauce, yes to whipped cream, no to a cherry, her voice as serious as if she were giving a report at school.
“Hey,” I said. “Remember this picture from last summer?” I pulled out the roller-coaster photo. “I brought it in case I needed to convince the guard I know you. That was a fun day, huh?”
She studied the photo. Something in her face suggested she barely recognized the people it depicted. She nodded politely and handed the picture back to me. Then she folded her hands on the table, examining them as though she’d never seen anything quite so fascinating. All at once she looked up.
“Promise you won’t call Mom.”
I made my voice gentle. “Honey, I can’t promise that. If your mom doesn’t know where you are, she’ll worry.” I didn’t need to remind her of how frantic Gwen had been when Maria had been kidnapped and held in New Hampshire. I knew that was already on her mind. “But here’s what I can promise: We’ll talk first. You tell me what’s going on, and then we’ll figure out how to keep your mom from worrying, okay?”
She hooked a strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear. Her fingers trembled, but she nodded.
The waitress brought over our ice cream. Maria picked up her spoon and pushed it into her sundae, but she didn’t eat.
I got started on my own sundae, scooping up a spoonful of whipped cream, hot fudge, and melting ice cream. After a second, Maria tasted hers, too.
Maybe this was about Mab’s visit to her dream. “I was expecting you to call again,” I said, trying to open up the topic without pushing. “And here you surprise me with a visit instead. It’s not often I get to take an ice cream break so early in the day.”
“What did he mean, paperwork?”
“Who? Oh, the guard at the checkpoint? Well, it can be a little complicated getting in and out of Dead—I mean, the part of town where I live. They don’t let people in unless they have business there.”
“Or live there.”
“Right. Or live there.”
She stirred her ice cream, making it soupy. “So the people who live there can’t get out, either?”
“That depends. The zombies—” Fear flickered across her face at the word, so I backpedaled. “You know, the people they call the ‘previously deceased.’ They can’t come and go whenever they feel like it. Someone has to sponsor them, get a permit, before they can leave.”
“That’s paperwork?”
“It’s one kind of paperwork. If someone from outside wants to visit where I live, they need to get permission from the city, and that’s the kind of paperwork he was talking about. It’s sort of like getting a visa when you travel to another country.”
“Do you have to do that?”
“Nope. I’m a different classification, a demi-human, so it’s easier for me. I just have to show my ID card. They swipe it, and I’m through.” I wouldn’t go into the intricacies of traveling outside of Boston. “Piece of cake. You saw how easy it was.”
“Mom thinks I’m one of those. What you just said you are.”
“A demi-human.”
“I heard her talking to Dad last night. She was crying. She said it would kill her to take me to Deadtown to live. So I . . .”
Brimming tears spilled from one eye, then the other, as she nodded.
I slid out of my seat and scooted in beside her, catching her in a hug. She pressed her face against me.
“You know how moms worry about everything, right?” I said, stroking her hair. “Your mom doesn’t know what will happen yet. Nobody does. And nobody is going to make you live in Deadtown if you don’t want to. Your mom and I won’t let them.”
“Are there kids there?”
“Some. Tell you what. One of these days, we’ll do that paperwork and you can come for a visit. A sleepover, if you want—and if your parents will let you.” I gave Maria a hug and then reached for my ice cream dish. “We’ve got even better ice cream over there.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Zombies are big eaters. It’s junk food heaven.”
Her smile was more genuine this time. “Maybe that’s why Mom doesn’t want me to live there. She’d freak if she knew I was having ice cream for lunch.”
For several minutes, I watched my niece eat her sundae. “You want to tell me about your dream? The one
