Oh, wow. Oh, crap. She had waves of gorgeous red hair, brilliant blue eyes, a flashing white smile . . . and she was in a wheelchair. Shitcrapfuck.
Was this how Saturn punished bad judgment calls?
I was super-glad of my innate caution. I could have had two bad legs by now if I’d blasted everyone I’d wanted to blast.
So much for reality. The Zone was looking safer than my future. I looked out the bay window over Milo’s head to the gray morning. No sign of green gas. I couldn’t tell if any pink ash littered the square of yard in front of Pearl’s house.
I didn’t have the education necessary to figure out the explosive capabilities of Acme and pink ash, but I could at least attempt to move some of our patients to better medical facilities. I’d e-mailed my mother’s dubious friends last night. Since it was Sunday, I didn’t expect immediate replies. I wondered if I should talk to Max’s biker buddies. If anyone knew how to dump unconscious victims, they did. But I wasn’t certain our patients would receive the best of care in their hands.
Maliciously contemplating wishing Acme’s management into outer space, worrying about ending up like Fat Chick, I used chewing gum to stick a message to Themis on my door asking if I would go to hell for visualizing punishment. She’d left me notes that way a few months back. I had no reason to believe she hung out in Baltimore, except the Zone was the only center of weirdness I knew, and even though I’d never met her, Granny rated high on my Wyrd Scale.
I almost wanted law school back so I could remember what it was like to have a sane day.
I couldn’t call Jane at this hour on a weekend, so I e-mailed her asking if she’d heard anything more about Acme. Her story on the Internet news site might have broken sooner than anyone else’s, but it didn’t include any new information—like how Acme would prevent a nuclear explosion of zombie gas. I was a wee bit antsy about a repeat of yesterday or worse.
Next time, it could be nerve gas. Or Agent Orange. Would our new zombies be comatose forever? I needed information that didn’t include chemical formulas.
I sent four-eyed computer geek Boris a request for a charger for the tablet. I could have ordered one online, but I’d never had a credit card. Now that I had a real job, maybe I should think about getting one. I needed a lot of things if I meant to tangle with Acme.
Restless, I decided to check upstairs to see if Paddy really lived there. I’d never ventured to Pearl’s third floor, and I was admittedly curious. The old Victorian was sturdy, built with solid wood. The banister hadn’t been polished in decades, but it was still smooth under my palm. These stairs weren’t as worn as the lower ones. Perhaps the third floor had been mostly for storage.
The stairs ended in a six-panel door with no identifying marks. I rapped my knuckles against it, not really expecting to be heard. As far as I knew, Paddy winked in and out of existence like my granny.
I was about to turn away when I heard shuffling on the other side. I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn’t wanted Paddy to be harmed by our escapade yesterday, but the thought of returning to Acme to find him wasn’t a happy one.
He opened the door and frowned in surprise. “I thought you were Pearl.” He shuffled back into the apartment in old bedroom slippers, leaving the door open.
Looked like an invite to me. “Pearl can’t climb the stairs anymore. I hope she’s not still in the cellar. Should I check on her?”
“Don’t believe everything Pearl says,” was his ambiguous reply.
He had books and papers spread across every inch of the floor, and there were a lot of inches. I’d guessed right. This once must have been an attic. The floors were unvarnished wood. The walls were brick. Bare bulbs hung from the rafters overhead.
He had a good view for miles inland and toward the Zone if he opened the French doors to the tiny front balcony. Even from up here, the air was a normal gray fog color, raising doubts about the lingering effects of green gas.
But there were still a dozen or more comatose patients who hadn’t come around. The cloud hadn’t been our collective imagination. Even as I stared down, I saw little Roomba-like devices circling the street, sucking up dirt and presumably particles. Apparently, the machines worked this far outside the Zone. If Acme really was vacuuming the streets, I wondered what they were doing about the harbor. Employing tiny Nemos?
A plain door on the opposite wall blocked any view of the water. Someone had nailed shelves between the wall studs, from floor to ceiling, and Paddy had filled them with books.
The only furniture I could see was a top-of-the-line computer desk, chair, and equipment, with thick cables and several large monitors.
Milo sniffed around and settled down in front of the French doors to keep an eye on activities below.
I rummaged in my capri pocket for the USB drive I’d copied yesterday. “I liberated this from the head honcho’s office. Don’t know if it’s useful.”
He was flipping through a book on the desk but glanced up quizzically at my offering. His eyes were clear, and he seemed to be operating on all cylinders, despite his cryptic replies.
“Head honcho?” He took the drive and plugged it in without asking for more explanation. “You mean Ferguson, the one whose ID tag you stole?”
Okay, definitely operating on all cylinders. I was starting to enjoy myself. I could have a posse if Paddy was up to speed. “That would be the one.”
“He’s a pervert.” He opened up the file list I’d copied, scrolling through. “I have most of this. The moron doesn’t know the meaning of
I had a quick glimpse of way too much gross nek-kid anatomy, before Paddy deleted the entire folder with the push of a button.
“Maybe I should delete Ferguson like that,” I muttered, not enjoying myself anymore.
“When we’re ready to dispose of Ferguson, we can call the feds and have him taken out based on the contents of his computer,” Paddy said, unfazed.
“You’re almost as mean as I am,” I said in wonder. “Why haven’t you shut down Acme already?”
“Can’t, for many reasons, as you’ve pointed out before. Besides, if I’d reported Ferguson, they would have locked me out permanently. Have you checked on our patients this morning?” He settled into his chair and started studying dates on the files I’d given him.
“I’ll do that next. Anything else I can do?”
He glanced up in surprise. “You’re asking?”
I shrugged. “I do that sometimes. Even surprise myself.”
He snorted. “And then you do what you want anyway. Keep Andre from killing anyone. It’s not healthy for him.”
He returned to work as if I weren’t there.
If I asked about Andre, it would imply I was interested. Not going there. If I meant to be a lawyer, I had to stay away from people who broke the law. Or thought they were above it.
That was a pretty dilemma for someone considering breaking, entering, and criminal trespass to retrieve Bill. I had justified saving Sarah because she was nuclear dangerous. But could I jeopardize my career for a gentle man who was just a friend? And then callously leave the others? Or was I trying to justify not going back to Acme’s dungeon?
I let myself out. Milo trotted after me. He’d appointed himself my guard cat, but I’d seen him flung against a wall and almost killed. He wasn’t invincible, but I couldn’t convince him of that. He was as warped as any other being living in the Zone. Take my word for it.
Checking outside, still seeing and smelling nothing unusual beyond the mechanical critters sucking the street, I let Milo follow me next door. From this vantage point, I could see down Edgewater to the Zone’s business district and ground zero of the barricaded harbor, with its rusted chimneys. Not a creature was stirring, not even pink ash.
No one answered the bell at Andre’s place. As usual, the front door was unlocked. Since this and the warehouse were the only ways I knew to access our patients, I entered without invitation. Maybe Andre’s security system sent him a Nuisance Alert message when I arrived so he could flip some magic switch.