wearing a shiny red suit with a white blouse underneath. A huge ruby hung from a gold chain around her neck.
I ran a pale gray hand along my hairless scalp. "What gave it away?"
"You came to take this?" She ran her hand along the top of the stone.
"Guilty. You aren't supposed to be in here."
She tossed my rat to me. I caught it instinctively. "Neither are you, but you're correct. I'm supposed to be in China right now."
She wasn't afraid of me, that much was obvious. Her clothes, her age, the massive ruby... They all gave me a solid idea of who I was dealing with.
Mrs. Red.
I had been scared the second she asked me to turn around. I was beyond terrified now. I was caught, like Mickey had been. She didn't need to call the guards to dispose of me, unless she didn't want to dirty her own hands. Either way, I was going to die.
I fought against my nerves, working hard to find my breath. I wasn't sure what else to do, so I tried to stall. "So why are you here?"
She rubbed the stone absently. I had heard Mrs. Red was a spitfire, but the woman in front of me looked more like a mourning grandmother, a victim. A tear ran from her eye.
"They told me Katherine was sick. They said she had the Rot. When I landed, they said they couldn't wait, that the Rot had taken over."
For years we'd been fascinated with the concept of zombies. Then the reversal happened, and with it came the Rot. It was the disease that started the whole walking dead mythos, and it was just like the movies. A fever, chills, death. Then your body started moving again, in time to a new drummer, motivated only by a desire to eat living tissue.
Unlike the movies, it wasn't that easy to get. Saliva to an open wound from someone or something with the virus would do it, but it was easy to avoid getting bit by a zombie. They didn't move very fast. There had been no hordes of walking dead, or world-breaking apocalypses; just a random stray victim from time to time, who could maybe take one or two others with them before they found themselves with a bullet, arrow, knife, or other blunt instrument lodged in their brains.
Whoever Katherine was, I couldn't imagine how she had gotten it here. I knew some animals could carry it like rabies, even if they never got symptoms. Maybe she had been bitten by an infected squirrel?
I felt the cold deadness of Mickey's fur in my hand. Or maybe she'd been bitten by a rat? Was that why she was telling me? Did she think I was responsible, and she wanted me to know about it before I got the toast treatment?
"It wasn't me." I held Mickey out towards her. "I only came for that, and I don't kill children." Did I really think I had a chance of getting out of here alive?
The tears hit her cheek and ran off her chin, leaving wet splatters on her suit jacket. "It wasn't a rat bite."
"Who was she?"
"My responsibility. The daughter of a deceased friend. She was only nine."
The ringing of alarm bells in my mind was sudden, and loud.
"What is it?" She must have seen my expression.
"Little girl, about this high?" My heart had already been pounding, my adrenaline already pumping. An overwhelming feeling of dread joined the mix. I thought getting caught was bad.
"Yes. How did you-"
I dove away from the door just in time, as the loud popping of gunfire echoed through the hallway, and bullets ripped through the wood. The lady in red wasn't so lucky. The shots slammed her hard, knocking her backwards into a bookshelf. Whoever they were, they were crack shots, or they could see through the door or something, because they managed to leave the stone and the pedestal totally unharmed.
I crouched in the corner, finding the knife and holding it at my side. The gunfire stopped. I could hear two pairs of feet coming down the hall.
"Come on, Mickey. Back at it," I said, reaching out for the rat. It came alive as it had before, sniffing and turning. When the gunman kicked the door open and saw the motion, he turned his rifle
I ran a pale gray hand along my hairless scalp. "What gave it away?"
"You came to take this?" She ran her hand along the top of the stone.
"Guilty. You aren't supposed to be in here."
She tossed my rat to me. I caught it instinctively. "Neither are you, but you're correct. I'm supposed to be in China right now."
She wasn't afraid of me, that much was obvious. Her clothes, her age, the massive ruby... They all gave me a solid idea of who I was dealing with.
Mrs. Red.
I had been scared the second she asked me to turn around. I was beyond terrified now. I was caught, like Mickey had been. She didn't need to call the guards to dispose of me, unless she didn't want to dirty her own hands. Either way, I was going to die.
I fought against my nerves, working hard to find my breath. I wasn't sure what else to do, so I tried to stall. "So why are you here?"
She rubbed the stone absently. I had heard Mrs. Red was a spitfire, but the woman in front of me looked more like a mourning grandmother, a victim. A tear ran from her eye.
"They told me Katherine was sick. They said she had the Rot. When I landed, they said they couldn't wait, that the Rot had taken over."
For years we'd been fascinated with the concept of zombies. Then the reversal happened, and with it came the Rot. It was the disease that started the whole walking dead mythos, and it was just like the movies. A fever, chills, death. Then your body started moving again, in time to a new drummer, motivated only by a desire to eat living tissue.
Unlike the movies, it wasn't that easy to get. Saliva to an open wound from someone or something with the virus would do it, but it was easy to avoid getting bit by a zombie. They didn't move very fast. There had been no hordes of walking dead, or world-breaking apocalypses; just a random stray victim from time to time, who could maybe take one or two others with them before they found themselves with a bullet, arrow, knife, or other blunt instrument lodged in their brains.
Whoever Katherine was, I couldn't imagine how she had gotten it here. I knew some animals could carry it like rabies, even if they never got symptoms. Maybe she had been bitten by an infected squirrel?
I felt the cold deadness of Mickey's fur in my hand. Or maybe she'd been bitten by a rat? Was that why she was telling me? Did she think I was responsible, and she wanted me to know about it before I got the toast treatment?
"It wasn't me." I held Mickey out towards her. "I only came for that, and I don't kill children." Did I really think I had a chance of getting out of here alive?
The tears hit her cheek and ran off her chin, leaving wet splatters on her suit jacket. "It wasn't a rat bite."
"Who was she?"
"My responsibility. The daughter of a deceased friend. She was only nine."
The ringing of alarm bells in my mind was sudden, and loud.
"What is it?" She must have seen my expression.
"Little girl, about this high?" My heart had already been pounding, my adrenaline already pumping. An overwhelming feeling of dread joined the mix. I thought getting caught was bad.
"Yes. How did you-"
I dove away from the door just in time, as the loud popping of gunfire echoed through the hallway, and bullets ripped through the wood. The lady in red wasn't so lucky. The shots slammed her hard, knocking her backwards into a bookshelf. Whoever they were, they were crack shots, or they could see through the door or something, because they managed to leave the stone and the pedestal totally unharmed.
I crouched in the corner, finding the knife and holding it at my side. The gunfire stopped. I could hear two pairs of feet coming down the hall.
"Come on, Mickey. Back at it," I said, reaching out for the rat. It came alive as it had before, sniffing and turning. When the gunman kicked the door open and saw the motion, he turned his rifle
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