My momma once told me I have a particularly annoying habit of not letting go of a topic until I’ve gotten a satisfactory answer. Jane, I swear, you are as relentless as the dead when you set your mind to something, she’d said in exasperation. And she’s right. When something doesn’t smell right I’m not one to let it be. Because what you don’t know might kill you. Whatever it is that Gideon is hiding, I want it out before it comes calling at the worst possible moment.
An expression somewhere between shame and embarrassment crosses his pale face. For the first time I notice that he has a faint smattering of freckles across his nose, and I have to work to quickly squash the warm, twinkly feeling the discovery evokes.
The boy is a distraction, I swear to God.
“The truth is . . . I left right after I spoke with you and Katherine.” He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and then takes his glasses off and cleans them as he talks. “I knew that the town was going to fall—not as soon as it did, but soon enough. The evidence was overwhelming. So I decided to take my chances running. I was busy loading some of my lab equipment onto a wagon when I saw your friend Ida and the rest of the Negro patrols running for the town’s border. I broke open the lock on the armory door for them, and then we all fled. Does it help if I told you I had no doubt that you would survive?”
“Not especially,” I say, my tone dry. I can’t really blame him for hightailing it out of there. Truth be told, I would have done the same thing if I hadn’t had Katherine in my ear talking about helping folks and the like. I grab my canteen off the ground and drain it. I still feel impossible thirsty. “Either way, it’s finished now, Summerland is just another dream turned to dust. So what’s this grand plan you have to save my neck? At least, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”
“Oh, yes.” He leans forward in the chair, and an odd expression comes over his face. It’s somewhere akin to the way my momma would look when she’d read a particularly inspiring passage of poetry or verse, a little bit crazed and a lot bit excited. “I want you to help me convince the people of Nicodemus to let me inoculate them.”
“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
“My vaccine. I’ve injected it into various subjects, including yourself—to great success, by the way—and I do believe it’s ready for wider testing. I want the people of Nicodemus, and now Summerland, to let me inoculate them as well.”
I laugh, the sound ugly and harsh. “If I remember correctly, I ain’t exactly had much choice when you gave me the poke.”
He flushes at the possible double meaning and clears his throat. “Yes, I know, and I apologize for that. But I only made sure you got it because you were headed for the patrols—the most dangerous job, the people most likely to be bitten. It was important for everyone working the patrols to have any possible protection I could give them.”
I shake my head. “Gideon, you’re a damn smart man, I know you’re just trying to help people, and I don’t want to rain on your parade. But you ain’t Edward Jenner, and whatever it is you’re sticking in people ain’t the smallpox vaccine. I ain’t ever seen it work. What I have seen is a whole bunch of people get dead.”
He purses his lips. “It’s worked on you.”
“I ain’t been bit! That’s the problem here. As soon as someone gets bit, that’s when you can start figuring out whether your inoculation works or not, and I don’t know people who are lining up to let shamblers bite them. Not to mention that most folks get devoured by the dead, so most times it ain’t just the problem of a little nibble.”
Gideon continues on, ignoring my outburst. “Nicodemus is the shining light on the hill. They’re open to the promise of science in a way that Baltimore and Summerland never were, and if I can show the townsfolk that it’s not walls and blades but vaccines that are the future, then we can change the world.”
“Gideon, my problem ain’t with vaccines—it’s with your vaccine. It’s based on the same faulty science as the one that got me all caught up in this mess back in Baltimore, ain’t it?”
“Professor Ghering’s formula was promising, but it had fundamental flaws. Ones that I’ve since addressed.”
“Fine—even so, how is it that you think we’re going to convince everyone that the vaccine works? You want I should march out to that horde, bid it good day, get bit, and then come skipping back like the prodigal lamb?”
Gideon takes off his hat and runs his hand through his hair. “I think you’re mixing your metaphors, Jane. And look, I understand your reluctance. Here’s the issue: most people here aren’t worried the inoculation won’t work; they’re afraid that getting injected is going to turn them. If you could tell folks that you got the vaccine and didn’t turn, that would convince a fair number of people to submit.”
“No, Gideon. And not just no, but hell no,” I say. “And now that you mention it, how is it you came to be such a fixture in Nicodemus in the first place?”
“I’ve been splitting my time between here and Summerland in secret for the past year,” he says, not quite meeting my gaze. “I’m in charge of the town’s defenses, and they’ve been giving me the resources I need to do what I never could in Summerland. We’ve taken to manufacturing our own gunpowder efficiently, and we’ve increased the strength of the fences as well as added an electric fence that’s powered by a series of windmills and a nearby creek.”
I study him for a long minute before crossing my arms. “I don’t understand. If you knew this place existed, only a couple days’ journey, why didn’t you help folks get out of Summerland and come here, where they wouldn’t have to risk their lives with shoddy defenses and forced patrols?”
He grimaces slightly. “I tried, but . . . I failed. I’ve been living here in town for the past year or so, pretending my trips away from Summerland were for research on the movements of the dead out here on the prairie. I only made my way back to town often enough to make sure Sheriff Snyder and the preacher didn’t get suspicious, take my lab from me, or report anything back to my father, whose grace was the only thing keeping me safe out here. Even so, I was ready to run, to make a clean departure, but that’s when you and Katherine arrived and, well, I knew I couldn’t leave. Not yet.”
“Well, I suppose that’s something,” I say. The mention of Katherine’s name revives a bit of the old jealousy. I imagine Gideon watching Katherine’s arrival with interest, thinking what a lovely bride she’d be. And then I squash the feelings, because she’s one of the few people I trust. I’m quickly running out of allies, so there’s no room for pettiness right now.
Gideon clears his throat nervously and starts talking faster. “The council will most likely be meeting tonight to discuss what to do with you. Let me tell them that you’ve volunteered to help me with my vaccine—to allow it to be tested on you. I won’t send you out to be bitten; I’m sure there are other ways to test the efficacy other than direct contact with the dead.”
“Gideon . . .”
He’s a brilliant scientist, it’s true. Maybe he could find some way to concoct the miracle shambler cure that could finally curtail the plague. But then I think of Othello, the poor Negro that made no mistake but to believe in the fantasy of Professor Ghering’s anti-shambler vaccine. He was fine until he got bit, and after that, well, he turned shambler just like everyone else. Gideon would have just thought of him as another negative test. And I ain’t signing on to be part of anything like that, cure or no.