All Our Tomorrows Read online

  Chapter 10: Milkshake

  I sip my coffee. It’s cooled a little, but it’s still a treat. As I stir in my fifth packet of sugar, I catch Elizabeth watching me and then glancing at Ajeet with a smile. Five packets was probably one too many.

  “Don’t eat or drink anything other than what we give you,” Elizabeth says. “We can ensure the purity of the food and water. Until we isolate the parasite and understand its lifecycle and means of transmission, we can’t risk contamination.

  “You’re going to have to be careful out there. Boil water before drinking. Wash vegetables in sterile water. Things like that.”

  I nod, feeling stupid about the risks I’ve taken.

  Steve asks, “You really think we could still turn?”

  “Yes,” Ajeet replies without a moment’s hesitation. “Your systems are primed, but you’re missing the trigger. You must be careful.”

  “We need to retrieve some of those tablets,” Dana says. “We need to isolate the active ingredient, understand its mode of action, dosage requirements, and toxicity.”

  “Will you be able to synthesize more?” Johnson asks.

  Ajeet shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe. We were able to manufacture antibiotics. It’s a matter of gaining access to base ingredients and reviewing the technical difficulty.”

  Ajeet opens a packet of cookies.

  Cookies!

  I bet my eyes are popping out of my head right about now. Just the sound of the plastic wrapper being torn open is enough to start me salivating. It’s been eight long years, almost a lifetime ago.

  They have cookies!

  The writing on the side of the packet reads Nutter Butters, leaving me wondering why butter would be considered special. I remember Oreos from before, but not much else. They were black and white, like a zebra, or maybe I’m getting them confused with something else.

  Steve gets to his feet. He’s been sitting on the other side of the table and gets up, taking his cup back to get more coffee, only he moves slowly, painfully. In the rush of adrenaline with Doyle, I never paid attention to his physical injuries, but he walks awkwardly, swinging from his left hip.

  He must see my concern as he says, “Dislocated while being dragged over a fence.”

  “Oh,” is all I can say in response. What else is there to say?

  My excitement at the cookies fades as I think about what Steve must have gone through over the past few days. He puts his cup down and one of the scientists pours him another cup of coffee, joking with him, but I can see him rolling his shoulder, shrugging off some muscular pain. And I thought I was stiff and sore. He’s been through hell.

  “Cookie?” Ajeet asks, handing me the packet. I take three. I don’t mean to be greedy, but I’m pretty sure one won’t be enough. Why three? Why not? I take a bite. The cookie is a little sweet, but doesn’t have much flavor, which is disappointing.

  “The astronauts,” I ask. “Who were they? What were they doing out there in the mall?”

  “Ah, those were old suits,” Ajeet says. “We use them as mannequins, scarecrows—glorified light stands stuffed with mummified bodies to avoid too much interest from the zombies. The cameras in the suits still work, so we were able to watch and observe.”

  “Why?” I ask, glancing at Steve and realizing he could have died out there. “Why would you leave him there?”

  “We didn’t know what we were dealing with,” Johnson says. “Behavior is never easy to interpret. When we saw them dump Steve on the stage, we thought he was dead. We set up an observation post in the mall, wanting to learn more about them. If we can understand their behavior—”

  Ajeet cuts him off gently, holding his hand up and speaking softly. “You are right. We should have intervened. Once we saw he was alive, we should have retrieved him. We saw a scientific opportunity, not a person lying injured on a stage.”

  Elizabeth swallows a lump in her throat. I suspect there was more going on between them at that time as I can see a guilty look in her eyes. She chokes a little, saying, “We’ve seen a lot of people die.”

  “You fight for the living,” I say feeling somewhat indignant. To me, this is self-evident. No one offers any more of an explanation. There are no excuses. Ajeet’s head droops, as does Johnson’s.

  Dana says, “We’ve been trying for so long—looking for a cure. I guess we forgot why we were looking.”

  It’s a sobering point, and one I suspect isn’t easy to admit. Feeling a little embarrassed at my outburst, I sip my sweet coffee, hiding for a moment behind my mug. I don’t mean to be accusative. I just want answers.

  “And on the railroad bridge last night?” I ask, lowering my tone as Steve sits down beside me.

  “That was Doyle and Anders,” Ajeet says. “They were repairing the line.”

  Elizabeth says, “Our power comes from a tap off the main line from the Browns Ferry nuclear power plant near Athens. Technically, the plant was shut down before going offline, but it’s still producing about 2% of its normal operating level. Doesn’t sound like much, but when there’s no one else drawing down on the grid, it’s plenty.”

  “But why dress up as astronauts?” I ask.

  “Because it makes us invisible to zombies,” Ajeet replies. “Zombies rely on smell as their primary sense.”

  Dana says, “We have roughly five million scent receptors in our nasal cavity, but the cavity is largely redundant. Given the size of our sinuses, we should be able to smell better than a beagle, but we can’t. And yet zombies can. We’ve dissected their nasal cavities. They have somewhere in the region of three hundred and twenty million active scent receptors. That’s more than a bloodhound.”

  “The suits.” Ajeet says. “Once someone has suited up, we sterilize them, removing any particulate matter with a series of steam baths and chemicals. The process takes time, but it is important. With no trace of human scent, and with the visors down, hiding all facial features, we can move through them like ghosts.”

  Dana says, “But they must remain completely sealed for the entire duration of the mission. There can be no breach or the illusion is destroyed. The suits need to capture expelled air. We can’t vent anything, or the zombies will attack.”

  “And the guns?” I ask. “I saw them using some kind of gun if any zombie got too close.”

  “They’re pneumatic guns,” Dana says. “Similar to what’s used to slaughter cattle. There are no bullets as such. A thick steel needle-like point shoots back and forth, lashing out six of seven inches and piercing the skull. Puncture either the frontal or parietal lobe, and they’ll drop.”

  “Is there anyone else?” Steve asks. At first, I’m not sure what he means, but he clarifies his point. “You know? Out there. Are there others like you? Are you in contact with anyone else?”

  Ajeet looks sad.

  Dana says, “No.”

  “But there could be,” Steve says. “I mean, if you’ve made it this long, perhaps there are others from the old world.”

  I know what he wants. We all cling to something from the past, to the fantasy that one day we’ll awake to the cavalry coming over the hill in tanks or the sound of helicopters charging overhead. We may grow older from year to year, but I don’t think anyone gives up on that dream.

  Ajeet shakes his head.

  Johnson says, “We haven’t heard from any of the other outposts for at least five years. If they’re still out there, they’re struggling.”

  “There could be pockets of resistance,” Ajeet says. “Perhaps they’re faring better in the north where harsh winters lay waste to the plague. The problem is, zombies aren’t the only ones ill-adapted to fight the cold. We’ve lost so much know-how.”

  “Maybe in other countries?” Elizabeth asks rhetorically.

  “Maybe,” Ajeet concedes.

  He’s being kind. There’s no one else out there and he knows it.

  Johnson says, “We’ve tried direct and indirect means to find other army groups. Everything from monitoring how mu
ch electricity we draw while looking for fluctuations, hoping someone else is tapping into the same reactor, but it’s just us.”

  “We can only hope,” Dana says.

  “You’re hungry. You’re tired,” Ajeet says, snapping us out of the moment just as he did when Doyle stormed out of the room. “It’s late. Tomorrow, we will retrieve more of these tablets. We’ll run tests. We’ll hit the lab and figure this thing out.”

  Late? Hungry? This is the first notion I’ve had of time since I awoke, which couldn’t have been more than a few hours ago. But I’m sore. I feel like I could sleep for a week.

  “Where are you going to house them?” Dana asks. “Doyle’s going to want them in lockdown.”

  Ajeet considers her point before responding.

  “East basement,” he says, getting to his feet. Steve and I get up.

  Ajeet faces us, saying, “Elizabeth will take you to the east basement. It’s an alcove, a dead end. Doyle is going to want to lock you in there, but do not fear. You are not being imprisoned. You’re not under arrest. It is just a precaution.”

  I nod. In some ways, I’m past caring, but I appreciate his sentiment. I can’t blame Doyle for wanting us under lock and key. Hearing either of us could still turn, I’m a little unnerved. I want these guys to figure out what’s going on. I want them to find a cure. Oh, if Dad were here, he’d agree.

  “Dana will bring you some food.”

  Steve and I follow Elizabeth to the door. Steve’s not going anywhere fast so I slip my arm around his waist and help him walk. He rests his arm over my shoulder, and we hobble out the door wearing our flimsy cotton gowns, looking very much like we’ve come from surgery. I doubt we’re a threat to anyone in our current state, but two soldiers are waiting outside. Their name tags read: Anders, Cooper.

  Anders speaks to Ajeet, saying, “Doyle wants to see you in the control room.”

  If Ajeet acknowledges them, it’s not obvious to me. In a kind voice, he says, “Please take our guests to the east basement.”

  Elizabeth leads the way. Steve and I are in no rush, hobbling along at a slow pace. At a guess, that’s a little frustrating for the soldiers as they look like they’re ready to sprint a hundred yards. They keep their rifles shouldered, but Anders rests his hand on his hip holster and hangs back a little. Doyle’s warned him.

  As we approach the east basement, the floor changes to old fashioned tiles. Elizabeth opens a heavy steel fire door with a small glass window set in the center. There’s no light beyond. She pushes the door open and steps into darkness. Elizabeth flicks a switch and fluorescent lights flicker overhead before bathing the hallway in a blinding white light.

  The east basement looks like an old-fashioned hospital. It’s chilly inside. Steel radiators line the walls, but I doubt there’s any steam to warm them.

  “Home sweet home,” I say, trying to make light of the empty corridor.

  The two soldiers wait by the door. That they’re not coming in doesn’t bother me. I figure it means this really is a dead end. They’re blocking the only way out.

  “Take your pick,” Elizabeth says, swinging her arms around and gesturing at a dozen darkened rooms on either side of the corridor. “We used these rooms as temporary housing during the early days. No one’s been down here since.”

  Steve points at the nearest room. I agree. No sense in walking any further than we have to. The rest of the corridor looks long and lonely. A graveyard would have more character.

  “They all have bathrooms,” she says, reaching in and turning on a light.

  Elizabeth walks into the room ahead of us.

  The room is austere but tidy. There’s a queen sized bed already made up with sheets and blankets. The pillows look a bit flat, but I’m not complaining. The dresser is dusty, and the bed smells musty, but it’s dry. Better than last night.

  “Bathroom’s through here,” she says, disappearing into a side room. I hear a toilet flush.

  A flushing toilet!

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing with the rush of water swirling in the bowl.

  Elizabeth apologizes, saying, “Gets a bit smelly if they haven’t been flushed in a while.”

  “I’ve smelled worse,” I say, and not just to be polite.

  Steve and I can’t help ourselves. We have to look. There’s a white ceramic toilet with a wooden seat. It’s clean. It’s useable. For us, this is the Waldorf Astoria—five stars all the way. Our eyes must look like saucers.

  “You’ll find clothes in the drawers. Should be a good assortment of sizes. Hopefully, you’ll find something that fits.”

  Dana walks into the room behind us carrying a steel tray with two plates and a couple of tall steel cups. I’ve seen these cups before, only I can’t place where. Colorful straws stick out of a brown liquid. Bubbles sit on the surface, refusing to pop.

  “I hope you guys like chocolate milkshakes,” she says.

  “Milkshakes!” Steve replies. His jaw drops and his eyes go wide. I’m just as dumbfounded.

  “How?” I ask.

  “Oh, there aren’t any cows around here,” Dana replies, laughing at our comical response. “The shakes are made from powdered milk, dried cocoa powder, a dash of vanilla bean, and a little honey.”

  She rests the tray on top of a dresser. Steam wafts from a mix of rice and beans. Dinner smells spicy.

  I pick up one of the cold steel cups and sip on the straw. There’s an explosion of flavor in my mouth. Memories come flooding back.

  “Oh, wow,” I say, suddenly remembering an ice cream shop my dad used to take me to on a hot summer’s day. I can’t help but draw in long and hard on the straw, and I have to stop myself from drinking the shake in one go. I need to savor this. I never thought I’d taste another milkshake in my life.

  “Don’t drink it all at once,” Dana says.

  Steve and I must look like kids in a candy store.

  Elizabeth says, “If you need anything, the guards are just outside.”

  “Sweet dreams,” Dana says, closing the door on her way out.

  Steve sips slowly at his milkshake. He’s even more of a kid than I am. He swishes the milkshake around in his mouth, swirling to savor the taste before swallowing.

  Out in the hall, I can hear the main steel door closing. A key turns in a lock. Apparently, we’re not prisoners, but we’re not exactly free either. There’s muffled talking, but once the door is locked, the silence is deafening.

  “So, what do you think?” Steve asks. “Could we still turn?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  Steve moves the tray onto the bed and I sit cross-legged on the blanket as we eat. Spicy rice and beans with chocolate milkshake as a chaser isn’t exactly gourmet dining, but I’m not complaining. The two flavors aren’t complimentary, and yet somehow we lose ourselves in the meal. There’s something about warm, tasty food that soothes the soul. Even if there is a clash of cuisines, a good hearty meal lifts the spirits. Our aches and pains fade and laughter ensues.

  “Can you believe this?” Steve says with his mouth full of rice and beans. “Hot sauce!”

  “And chocolate milk!” I reply, running my straw around the bottom of my cup and noisily sucking up every last drop. I’ve always had a sweet tooth.

  For a moment, I can forget about the outside world. For now, there’s only us. There are no zombies. There’s no research center. No makeshift prison around us. Not a care in the world. Just the two of us so full of life and love.

  I grin from ear to ear as I chew my food. I can’t take my eyes off Steve. I can barely believe we’re here and we’re safe. Steve’s eyes dart between mine and his plate. He’s probably wondering what I’m grinning about, knowing it’s more than the food, but he keeps eating. I reach out and take his steel cup, taking a sip of his chocolate milkshake.

  “Hey,” he says, half reaching for the cup but not trying to take it from me.

  “Whatcha gonna do about it?” I ask coyly, peering at him from behi
nd the cup. Steve fakes a pout and I take another playful sip before putting the cup back on the tray. He grins, shaking his head. His cheeks are rosy and full of life. He’s never looked so handsome to me as he does right now.

  “Do you think they’ll let us take some with us? The hot sauce, I mean.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, and with those few words uncertainty clouds my mind. Steve’s assuming they’ll let us go. I’m not so sure. There’s a power struggle going on between Ajeet and Doyle. I hate to think we could become pawns in this game. Best not to worry. Tomorrow’s a new day. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the apocalypse it’s that there’s no sense living anywhere but in the moment. Tomorrow will take care of itself.

  “I hope we can,” I say, even though I don’t really care for the hot sauce. Getting to my feet, I wipe my face with a faded napkin and walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

  After relieving myself and using actual toilet paper—clean, white, soft toilet paper—I flush. I rummage around in the cabinet beneath the sink, curious as to what’s been left behind. There are towels, bars of soap, bottles of shampoo.

  “Oh, no,” I say, thinking aloud. I’m not sure why the word “no” slipped from my lips, but it did. A dull ache registers deep within.

  From almost directly outside the door, I hear Steve say a worried, “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

  “It’s nothing,” I say, opening the bathroom door.

  “What is it?” Steve insists, and I can see he’s concerned. He’s protective of me, which is a little flattering.

  “It’s really nothing. It’s silly,” I say, pointing at the towels in the open cabinet.

  At the far end of the bathroom, there’s a shower set in an old fashioned bathtub, complete with a moldy plastic curtain. It looks like something from a 1950’s black and white film—the kind my mother loved. I forget the names of the actors, but they were all either dashing middle-aged men or beautiful, petite young women with absurdly impractical bras. Perhaps that’s why my initial reaction was negative. Memories from before the overthrow are never easy to deal with. I miss my mom.