The professor laughs. “Why, go right ahead.”
“Well, see, in the event—however unlikely—that your vaccine does not have the desired effect, and Othello there turns, I was wondering what your contingency plan is. Have you taken the vaccine yourself?”
“Oh, most certainly not,” the professor says, his already ruddy face going positively crimson.
“Oh. Well, sir, that is a problem. See, shamblers are pretty strong when they first turn, and I can’t help but notice that you don’t have anyone at the ready to put the big man down. You do understand he’s going to go after you first, don’t you?”
The crowd shifts uncomfortably, and the professor forces out a dry laugh. Next to me Katherine whispers, “Sit down, Jane!” while a few of the ladies in the gallery exclaim over the rudeness of this new crop of Negroes.
This was a bad idea. This is the worst idea in the long and storied history of terrible ideas, right on up there with Julius Caesar marching up to the Roman Senate when he knew everyone wanted him dead. Why did I open my mouth? Why don’t I just learn to mind my place, like Miss Anderson is always harping on about? For a moment my bravado falters. Maybe I should just sit down and leave Othello to his fate.
But, along the wall, one of the girls catches my eye and gives a slight nod. I know her. Her name is Maisie Carpenter. She was in her last year of Miss Preston’s my first year there. Her silent approval warms me.
“Miss McKeene—” the professor begins, but he’s interrupted by Mayor Carr himself climbing to his feet.
“Girl,” he begins, in his condescending politician’s voice, “your concern for your betters is a credit to the fine training you’ve received out there by Miss Preston’s. But you can rest assured that this demonstration is going to go quite as expected. That is to say, our good man Othello here will only experience but a little discomfort from the shambler’s bite. There is nothing that I value more than the safety of the good citizens of this fine city, and Professor Ghering’s work is a testament to the vision of the Survivalist Party and the future of these American states. It is men of science like him, and brave patriots like Othello, who will restore this nation to its former glory.” The mayor grins wide, and there is a smattering of applause in reaction to his speechifying. Then he makes a shooing motion in my direction. “Now, why don’t you take your seat. With due respect to Miss Preston, this ain’t your place.”
His words are mild; his tone is not. And what he says unlocks some long buried memory. Just like that, I’m no longer in the lecture hall but back at Rose Hill Plantation, watching as the major slowly uncoils the horse whip from its hook.
This ain’t your place, girl. You run back on inside ’fore you’re next.
I blink. This is where I cash in my chips. No way I can outtalk Old Blunderbuss, especially now that my moment has passed. After all, he’s a professional liar. I might be good, but I ain’t no politician.
“Well, Mr. Mayor, that is a relief.” I force a shaky smile and bob a curtsy before sinking back into my chair.
“You are most unseemly sometimes,” Katherine whispers next to me. “Honestly, Jane, I don’t know why you even bother with Miss Preston’s. It’s obvious from anyone paying attention that you’ll never make it as a lady’s Attendant. Why, can you just imagine—”
“That big, dumb fool up there is about to turn into a shambler, and everyone is just going to let it happen,” I whisper curtly. “Do you really think I could sit back and say nothing?”
“If Professor Ghering says—”
“Professor Ghering just said you ain’t much more than livestock. You really gonna put faith in that man’s words?”
That shuts her up, and I turn my attention back to the stage.
The professor marches over to where Othello stands next to the cage, a matter-of-fact smile on the academic’s face. Othello ain’t smiling. He looks terrified. Second thoughts and all that. “Now, go ahead and stick your hand in the cage,” the professor says. In the audience someone coughs, and the crowd is so quiet that it echoes like a gunshot.
Othello just stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looks at the shamblers, and then back at the professor, who clears his throat and gestures toward the cage. The shamblers are reaching through the bars, their faces pressed into the spaces between, their mouths agape. “Go on, Othello. There’s nothing to fear.” His voice is kind and confident. Othello turns to the crowd, and for a moment I think that maybe he’s finally going to put a stop to this, walk away and live out whatever time he has left in this world.
That’s when his shoulders slump, and he sticks his arm out.
They’re on him before he gets more than his fingers into the cage. One of them gets a hold of his hand and pulls him closer, biting down on his arm like it’s a drumstick. Othello’s shout of pain echoes through the auditorium, and in the rows ahead of us a few of the ladies get the vapors. Their girls are on them immediately, passing smelling salts under their noses and escorting them out, half carrying them. I’m sad to see that Maisie Carpenter is one of them. She was a solid marksman. It would be nice to have her here when it all goes to hell.
Up on stage, the professor and another man are pulling Othello back from the cage and settling him into the stage’s lone chair. The shamblers are frantic now that they got the taste of fresh meat. They sniff the air, their yellow eyes scanning the crowd as they look for their next meal. Someone should walk up onstage and put them down, but no one is paying any attention to
