Zombies of the Gene Pool

'Small boats in the wettest parts,' Bunzie told her. 'And after that, wading boots. I brought a case of them, all sizes.'

'A lot of people are upset about this drawdown,' said Barbara, leaning forward confidentially to impart the local point of view. 'You know, they didn't move all the graves when the TVA made the lake back in the fifties, and some people are afraid that there'll be bodies floating in the mud when the water recedes.'

Angela Arbroath gasped. 'Where is Dugger buried?'

'Somewhere else. The lake was already here by that time,' Jim told her.

'I've heard that some pilots in private planes have flown over the valley and reported seeing bodies floating in the channel,' Barbara insisted.

'Catfish,' said her husband. 'Those channel cats can get up to six feet long.'

Barbara Conyers tossed her head. 'Well, I just hope y'all don't stumble across any unearthed corpses when you go out hunting your time capsule.'

'I hope not too,' said Bunzie. 'The film crews couldn't use that sort of footage for promotion.'

'Speaking of skeletons in the valley,' said a new voice, 'I should think we had quite enough of our own.'

The Lanthanides looked up to see three newcomers standing in the doorway: a dark-haired woman and a young man who looked startled by their companion's outburst, and the speaker himself. He was a gaunt man in late middle age, and his somber outfit-a black jacket over black shirt and trousers-emphasized the pallor of his skin. He leaned on the door frame and studied the group with a smile that might have been derisive or challenging. It was anything but friendly.

Bunzie decided to ignore the impertinence. Frowning at the intruders, he waved them away. 'I'm sorry!' he called out. 'This is a private party. The Lanthanides will not be giving interviews until tomorrow.'

The younger couple turned to leave, but the man in black still stood in the doorway, enjoying the disturbance he had created.

Erik Giles stood up. 'They aren't reporters, Reuben. At least, two of them aren't. These are my friends Jay Omega, the writer, and Marion Farley, from my department. They came with me. I'm afraid I don't know the other gentleman.'

Jay Omega looked apologetic. 'We met him in the lobby as we were coming in,' he explained. 'He was looking for the reunion. He said that you would know him.'

The Lanthanides looked questioningly at each other. No one spoke. Bunzie nodded to his assistant, signaling him to be ready to handle an awkward situation. 'I don't think any of us knows the gentleman,' he said dismissively. 'So if you will excuse us-'

The man in the doorway smiled. 'It'll come to you, Fugghead.'

'My God!' whispered George Woodard, peering at the stranger. 'It's Pat Malone!'

Chapter 8

Pseuicide-The fannish term for faking someone's death. Since most of fandom is conducted by mail, hoaxes are relatively easy to perpetrate.

'What was that all about?' whispered Marion when the door to the reception closed behind them.

Jay Omega shrugged. 'I guess they knew him. What shall we do now? Call it a night?'

Marion glanced at her watch. 'Not until I find out what's going on. Why don't we go out to the lobby and get some coffee? That way, we can waylay Erik when the party breaks up, and try to find out what's going on.'

Her companion stifled a yawn. 'All right. If you insist, but I don't see-'

'Shh!' Marion gestured toward the closed door of the banquet room. 'Someone may come out unexpectedly. It would be a considerable blow to my self-esteem, not to mention my professional standing, if someone came out and caught us loitering in the hall like a couple of groupies. Let's talk about it over coffee.'

Several minutes later, Marion had commandeered the coffee shop booth with the best view of the lobby, and she was hunched over a steaming mug of black coffee with the furtive air of an unindicted co-conspirator. Jay Omega, whose attention had been captured by a piece of Dutch apple pie, was doing his best to humor her.

'I'm sure they didn't mean to be rude,' he said. 'They seemed quite upset.'

'It's all very strange,' she murmured, stirring furiously. She kept casting sidelong glances at the hallway to the banquet room as if she were expecting a stampede, but all was quiet.

'He's another one of the Lanthanides, isn't he?' said Jay. 'When we met him in the lobby, and he said that he was Pat Malone, I assumed that he was an editor or a film person, and that he was joking, but Woodard seemed to recognize him.'

Marion scowled. 'Woodard called him Pat Malone, which is ridiculous. Pat Malone has been dead since 1958. Everybody in fandom knows that. I know that and I wasn't even in fandom in 1958. I was in diapers!'

This was something of an exaggeration, but Jay wisely did not correct her arithmetic.

'I admit that it sounded like Woodard said 'Pat Malone,' but it's impossible. Pat Malone is dead. All the books say so.'

Jay smiled. 'That would explain the shocked looks on the faces of the rest of them.'

'It certainly would,' snickered Marion. 'Pat Malone! I wonder how he found out about the reunion?'

'Ouija board?' suggested Jay Omega, trying to keep a straight face.

Marion, who had gone back to trying to figure things out, acknowledged his wit with the briefest of smiles. 'Very clever. Actually, his knowing about the reunion is probably the least part of the mystery. Thanks to the dramatic effect of the drained lake, and to Ruben Mistral's excellent publicists, this reunion has been covered in everything from computer bulletin boards to the National Inquirer. You'd have to be dead not to know about it.'

'I wonder if Elvis will show up,' Jay mused. 'He's from Tennessee, too, isn't he?'

'Don't be silly,' said Marion. 'Elvis Presley is dead.'

'That doesn't seem to have stopped Pat Malone,' he pointed out. 'Can you explain that?'

Marion nodded. 'I think so. Mark Twain said it best: All reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Actually, in fandom such misinformation isn't even uncommon. Fans chiefly correspond by letter and by hearsay, so it's very easy for someone to start an unsubstantiated rumor, which soon gets repeated as fact farther along the grapevine.'

'Somebody said he was dead, and nobody checked?'

'Hardly anybody ever checks anything in fandom. Remember all the garbage that came out in fanzines after Bimbos of the Death Sun first came out? People thought 'Jay Omega' was a pseudonym for half of SFWA.'

'I told you not to read the amateur commentary on my book,' said Jay, downing the last of his milk.'It only upsets you. Even good reviews upset you.'

'I couldn't believe how shallow most of those reviewers were,' said Marion, momentarily distracted. Then, noticing her companion's amused smile, she decided to jettison the tirade. 'Well, never mind about literary criticism! The subject at the moment ought to be history. Apparently we have just witnessed the debunking of a death hoax of thirty years' standing.'

'Hoax?' Jay looked bewildered. 'So you're saying that somebody deliberately made an announcement that Pat Malone was dead, and everybody just believed it and let it go at that?'

'Something like that. Given the mentality of fandom, death hoaxes are inevitable occurrences. Some people do