"But it's d.a.m.n shady. Not just them. We'll talk about it tonight."

As I nodded, Salvez entered the room. "Screen, lower," he said wearily.

"Everything done?" Papa strode away from his desk. Behind him an enormous flat screen dropped down, taking up the entire western wall.

"Yes, and you're not going to like it. Computer, access file P1-2339A." Bram and I moved to join the others. Papa put his hand on my shoulder.

The first slide was a set of images captured from a holographic internal scan. "I went over his internals inch by inch." Salvez moved in front of us, gesturing to the left-hand image. "Several things strike me as very odd. First of all, examine his hips. This is from the rear. Do you see what I see?"

"He's had bone marrow harvested," Evola said, his eyes narrowing. "I can see the aspirations." I looked, and found what he meant-several tiny little holes, where a needle had drilled into his bone.

"Exactly. Postmortem, too. Notice the lack of any sort of healing." He gestured upward. "And yet, his vital systems seem beautifully intact, barely rotted. If I didn't know better, I'd say this shot was of a living man. It's very odd."

"What else?" Papa asked.

Salvez pointed to the next picture, which was of one of Patient One's legs. "Even Miss Dearly should be able to see what's wrong with this."

Before I could fire off a snarky comment, I did notice what was wrong. "He has ... a ..." I pointed at his knee. It didn't look right; it was strangely bright on the image.

Papa moved forward, his brows lifting. "An artificial kneecap."

"Yes, and look." Salvez blew up the image until I could easily see that something had been done to the plastic kneecap itself; it appeared the side had been filed or sc.r.a.ped, and then drilled into. "All identifying markings have been destroyed."

"Identifying markings?"

"Yes. Artificial body parts, at least those received by the living, are usually chipped and coded for record keeping and safety purposes."

"Someone didn't want anyone to be able to use that info to identify him," Bram said.

"And that is the story of this man's life!" Salvez started pacing back and forth, images rapidly flickering across the screen. "His teeth? Not his own. Someone yanked out all of this poor man's teeth and replaced them with artificial ones. Thus, no dental records. I ran his DNA again, and scans of his iris and retina; he doesn't match up with any records, anywhere. His fingertips-and thus his fingerprints-have been snipped off. Same goes for the soles of his feet. He has no ID chip, and from the level of rot, I can't tell if he ever did. It's like he's been sealed in a vat and hidden underground until now. Oh." He told the screen to pause on a particular image. "Notice his scalp. Someone attempted to shoot him in the head at some point, and succeeded only in delivering a flesh wound. I think it probably happened a few weeks ago-I'd say a few months ago, but that can't be right. If he's been around for months, and if he's given to violence, we would have seen this mutation before now."

"What all has he been through?" I asked, looking back at the prisoner.

"G.o.d only knows. There's absolutely no way to find out who this poor creature is, unless he recovers his powers of speech and feels chatty." Salvez gripped his head. "I think I'm beginning to lose my mind."

"You're still a bit shaken up," Tom told him. "Buck up. You did great. And insanity isn't all that bad, you know. Nowadays, I tend to think of stark raving madness as just a really flamboyant survival mechanism."

Salvez made a face at Tom, and pulled my father and Evola into a conference. The guys and I retreated a few steps, while Isley returned to the cage. "What are we going to do?" I asked.

"Get back to the house. Pull everyone in," Bram said. "It might seem like we have two different things to worry about, but I'm not convinced they're not one and the same."

I lifted my eyes, peeking up at Bram through my lashes. He wore the same worried expression I figured I must. "Do you really think the Changed might be connected to the masked attacks?"

"Let's get back to the house. Talk."

"Okay." I started back down the room. "Father? Ready to go?"

As I came up behind the priest, I could hear him speaking, his voice low. I soon realized he was either praying or reciting some biblical pa.s.sage, so I stopped, waiting for a respectful moment to b.u.t.t in.

"The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them," he p.r.o.nounced, with an accent of finality.

"Father," I began, just as Patient One lifted his head. I stopped dead, watching as the prisoner gazed up into Isley's eyes. His movements were achingly slow, and accompanied by very soft, moist sounds.

"Not lions," he gurgled. He didn't stutter, but dragged out his words to the point where they ticked like a reading off a Geiger counter. "He has no lions. No leopards."

"What?" Isley asked as the guards shakily unslung their rifles and aimed them into the cage. "No, stop!"

"No lions. No leopards," Patient One said. "The Devil keeps tigers."

After enlightening us as to the feline nature of the devil's menagerie, Patient One clammed up again. We spent upward of an hour cajoling him, without results. The dead man simply laid his chin back on his chest and sank into silence.

Eventually we returned home as a group. It took us all of fifteen minutes to convene our war council and head for the attic. Renfield was already there, messing about with his computers when we stomped our way upstairs.

"I take it cla.s.s is in session?" he said by way of greeting, as I moved to snag one of Isley's cats. The skinny tabby wriggled in my arms as I sat down on the floor.

"Yep. Pleasantries later," Bram said as he closed the attic door. "Let's get right to business. First up, bombing. Ladies, spill. Everything."

As the others settled down, I started getting them up to speed. Pamela chimed in a few times. By the time we were done, all eyes were on her.

"Okaaay. Masked dudes do not sound ran-dom to me," Chas said. Her new voice reminded me of the very people she was talking about. It was getting better, her control over the new tech improving, but I willed her to hurry up.

"Isambard," Tom said, "you haven't been out there making a name for yourself, have you? Getting into fights or anything?" The boy shook his head.

Ren piped up. "Zombies have been the target of intolerant attacks since December, though. Mr. Griswold and Miss Dearly were in the carriage. This could be an extension of that."

"Yeah, but it's hard to believe something this big isn't personal," I said. "And it's too weird that both our families were on the receiving end."

"There's something else." Everyone looked at Bram. "Every time I've been around the Changed, I've heard the words 'brother' and 'sister' bandied about. It was even on that note Laura left. What did one of the masked guys say the night we were attacked, Nora?"

" 'Careful, brother.' " My heart jumped into my throat. "Oh my G.o.d."

"Yeah." Bram let us in on what he'd seen and heard on the coastal road. When he described the camp briefly for Pam's and Isambard's benefit, Pamela gave me such a look.

"Why would anyone want Patient One, though?" Issy asked.

"For ransom? Possibly to use as a biological weapon?" Renfield shook his head. "Shades of Averne. Not a happy thought."

"Seeing that Changed girl on the road," Bram said, "the way Hagens acted, the way Claudia talked on the boat, the masks at the camp-it kind of all fits together."

"You really think Hagens has it out for us, though?" Tom said to him. "I mean, she was always a hard-a.s.s, but a good soldier. Maybe she just feels she can state her piece now that Company Z no longer exists."

"I could buy that. But this? Zombies attacking the cops?" Bram looked to Chas. "You've gone to a few protests. Did any of the zombies you met talk about attacking the living?"

"If they had, I wou-ldn't have gone back," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "They just talked about protesting. Marching. Keeping zombies in Parliament."

"Maybe someone's chosen to step it up a notch. Turned anti-living for some reason. But I don't get the feeling Laura's lying either. That's the problem."

"So do you think the masked people are from the Changed?" I asked. "We don't have any hard evidence for that."

"I know it sounds kind of paranoid, but think about Hagens's threats. She told you to go to ground, Nora. She told all of us to watch our backs. That's not evasive language. In fact, she asked how you were right off the bat-like she thought something might've already happened to you."

"But I was standing right there-she might've been mouthing off. And how would she know about the Roes?"

"If they're a gang of criminals, though," said Tom, "someone might know how to make a bomb. This could make sense."

At that, Pamela spoke up. "My father said the police didn't have anything new yet. They're waiting for forensics results on the bomb." Her voice was tired.

Bram sent her a sympathetic look. "While we're waiting on that, I think we should look into things. For starters, I want to learn more about that camp. Hagens. And clearly Nora and I can't go."

"Maybe Samedi could go back," I suggested. "Convince them he wants to help that kid."

"Wait. We're talking about a recon mission to the zombiiie camp?" Chast.i.ty raised her hand. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Yeah, Chas," Bram said. "And I nominate you, Coalhouse, and Tom. No offense, Ren, but if it comes to blows, they'll need to be able to dish it out."

"None taken, I a.s.sure you." Renfield saluted the three chosen ones, a smirk playing over his lips.

"Yes. I like this. Back on the horse," Tom said. "So, what's the goal of this little mission? And who's heading it up?"

Bram had clearly slipped back into captain mode, and the others back into a military mind-set. "Coalhouse."

Coalhouse looked at him curiously, only his good eye moving-the other dead, loose one remaining stationary in its exposed socket. "Me? Usually I'm backup."

"You did well today. You deserve a chance."

Tom didn't exactly look thrilled by this turn of events, but he nodded at Bram.

"Got it." Coalhouse smiled broadly. "I'll do right by you, Cap, I swear."

"Good. Head back up, blend, ask around. Be smart. All we need to do is figure out if someone there knows something about the attack on the road, the stuff that's been going on in town. If nothing else, check around for the bird masks." Bram looked at everyone in turn. "Hagens obviously doesn't like me or Nora, whatever her reasoning. If you attract her attention, act like you're growing to hate us, too. Like what she said got you thinking, and that's why you came back."

"I get to talk about what an imbecile you are, openly and freeely?" Chas punched the air. "Best mission ev-er!"

"Be smart," Bram stressed, leaning closer to her. "Meanwhile, Ren-suggestions?"

"I could start a database of all suspected attacks, look for commonalities. I could look for information on any names you bring me."

"Right. Start with background checks on Hagens and a woman named Martira Cicatriz."

"And Edmund Lopez," I said. When Pamela looked at me, I antic.i.p.ated her response and told her, "I'm with you. I'll do whatever you need me to do." She actually smiled a bit.

Standing up, Bram added, "I'm going to ask around the boats. See if maybe the Changed have tried to recruit zombies, and if they did, what was said."

Pamela asked, "Shouldn't we also go to the authorities? The press?"

Bram looked down at her for a moment before responding. "It's all speculation at this point, Miss Roe. I think we should see how far we get on our own. Laura, Dog ... there are zombies up there who I sincerely doubt are in on this. And the last time the army went up against the Changed ..." His brow furrowed. "The army was ready to kill them. And the press spins things, spreads rumors. You can't control it once it's out."

Pamela glanced at her brother and capitulated with a nod. "All right."

Bram was silent a moment longer, before adding, "No more unnecessary deaths, guys. No more violence, no more lies. We have to handle this. Now."

"Yes, everyone shoo," Ren said, finding his feet. He tapped a few b.u.t.tons on his round-b.u.t.toned metal keyboard, and an e-mail sprang up on his computer screen-a bouncing animated envelope, its virtual wax seal green and stamped with the letters ACL. "What in ... b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. Aethernet Chess Live will not stop e-mailing me."

Pamela stepped up behind his chair to watch, Issy joining her. I left them to their distraction, moving to follow Bram. The moment the others got ahead of us, he caught my hand and kissed my fingertips. It was a casual, tender little gesture that made my insides tickle.

And I needed it. Because the idea, as tenuous and unproven as it was, that someone had targeted Pamela and her family because of me? Or Bram? It was too horrible to contemplate-so horrible I found myself trying actively to block the thought. It was enough to make me hope for the first time that it was some random madman who'd gone after them.

A random madman would be easier to deal with than that.

17.

LAURA.

Dog and Abuelo the Treasure Hunter slumbered beside me as I watered my plants with a thick bra.s.s syringe. It was another gift from Abuelo, whose sharp eye proved profitable when it came to Dumpster diving. Almost everything I owned had come from him, at one point or another-my books, my plant seeds. He was a husk of a man, ancient and arthritic and legless long before the Laz came.

Elsewhere in the large communal tent cons and beggars stirred at the behest of Claudia, shoving aside their narrow bedrolls and talking wistfully of the days when they might've boiled up a pot of coffee before heading out for their shift. Dead kids were traded off to those who wished to use them in their daily ploys-it always paid to beg with a small herd of children behind you. Drummed up more sympathy. Didn't matter if they were your own or not.

"Christ," I heard Claudia say. "Why are you lazy b.u.ms still abed? The carriages are heading to New London in ten minutes!"

I hastened to finish, dropping the syringe into a chipped gla.s.s of cloudy stream water. The tink it made seemed louder than it ought to.

Abuelo finally opened his eyes and started to sit up. "Morning, Miss Laura," he coughed.

"Good morning, Abuelo." He wasn't really our grandfather, merely the oldest member of the Changed that I knew of. We'd left New London around a hundred strong. Over the last four days or so our number had more than doubled. Zombies had come and just ... stayed. Like Smoke, once upon a time.

Claudia finally caught sight of us and headed over. I watched her approach with a heavy heart, expecting she would tell me to head into town with Abuelo, to watch him sell his trinkets. And oh, I didn't want to go back there.

Despondency pulled me to my feet. "Please, please, don't make me go back to the city, Claudia. I'll do whatever else you want-"

"Who said I wanted you to go to the city, you useless thing?" she snapped. Claudia's hair always reminded me of a tower of brambles when she got angry-as if she were some horrible Thorn Queen from a fairy tale. "Dog, you get the honors today."

Surprised, I said, "Really?"

Claudia grabbed my hand. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Abuelo pushed himself up into his cart and started fussing with the faded blankets there, swaddling his bandaged leg stumps. I didn't have time to say anything more to him or Dog, for Claudia started pulling me through the tent. The others watched as we pa.s.sed, lingering over their clothes and packs of cards and trick cups. I knew they disliked that I so often got out of work. They resented the fact that I wasn't expected to bring in any coin-mostly because Martira knew I was so bad at it. It was hard to ask people to part with their money for a handful of stolen flowers.

"Get out of here! What're you waiting for? Y'all suddenly become performers?" Claudia hollered at the others, urging them on their way. "Except for the leaders! We're going to Martira's tent today!"

Martira's tent?