The sun is high in the sky as we make our way to the church where everyone is gathering. As we enter, it is easy to see that people have segregated themselves into various factions: the white folks from Summerland congregate on the left side of the church. They number fewer than I thought. The group that seemed to be fifty or so folks when they were calling for Jane’s neck turns out to be fewer than twenty men and women. I am uncomfortably surprised to see the Madam and her girls sitting on the edge of the Summerland crowd, Thomas bouncing happily in her lap. I suppose when lines are drawn it is easier to go with what one knows than to forge new paths.
The displaced Summerland folks wear identical scowls directed toward the right side of the church, where the residents of Nicodemus sit, men and women of color dressed in finer clothes than anything the Summerland folks wear. Here and there is an Indian man or woman, and I spot a lone white family in the plain dress of the Quakers, but for the most part the right side of the church is a sea of dark skin. A few of the Nicodemus folks meet the glares of Summerland’s displaced with their own haughty glares.
Tossed into this mix are the Summerland patrols, standing with arms crossed in the back of the church. Their weapons are clearly on display for all to see and the murmur that arises makes clear the white folks from Summerland are none too happy to see it.
There is a shifting of bodies as the town council and the mayor walk to the dais at the front of the church. The council is mostly colored, although there are two very elderly white people who make their way to the front as well. Sheriff Redfern files in behind them, and he tips his hat at me as his eyes meet mine. It is incredible to see so many colored folks in positions of power.
The outrage coming from the white Summerland folks is nearly palpable, and my spirits lift a bit at realizing that for all their bluster and outrage the principles they clung to in Summerland will do nothing for them here.
There are maybe two hundred people crammed into the church, and the heat is unbearable. The stink of unwashed bodies competes with the scent of decay from the horde outside the gates, and I am not quite sure which one is worse. Either way, I am not distracted by my discomfort for long as the mayor pounds on the podium to get everyone’s attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to this town hall. I am sure you are all wondering what this could be about, and instead of bloviating at you as I usually do”—he pauses to chuckle here, although no one in the audience laughs along with him—“I figure I would let our lead science man, Gideon Carr, speak instead.”
“When are you hanging that darkie?” someone yells, and a chorus goes up from the Summerland section of the church. Mayor Washington gives them the kind of smile one would give a child demanding a sweet before supper.
“We are still conducting our investigation into that matter, rest assured. But this town meeting is about a more pressing issue, namely that group of restless dead gathering outside the main gate.”
This seems to mollify folks a bit, and Gideon grins winningly as he climbs onto the dais from his position in the front pew of the church.
“Nope,” Sue mutters next to me. “I sure don’t trust that white man.”
“Aw, Gideon ain’t so bad,” Callie says. She catches me looking at her and ducks her head. I have seen that expression before, more than once.
Callie is besotted with the man.
“Good afternoon,” Gideon says, pitching his voice to be heard above the crowd. I turn my attention back to him, and whatever Mayor Washington believes to be pressing enough to summon everyone in the middle of the day.
“As many of you know, I’m Gideon Carr, scientist and inventor. I’ve advised extensively on the defenses of both Summerland and Nicodemus, though I daresay that the good people here in Nicodemus have given me resources and support to execute plans that far outstrip my efforts in Summerland.” A heavy silence greets the statement, and Gideon clears his throat and continues. “For nearly twenty-four hours you have heard my electric rail gun firing, and thus far it’s been successful at keeping the undead away from the town’s perimeter. We estimate them to currently be about a quarter of a mile away, just beyond the outside edge of the fencing. They since seem to have stopped their forward progression, for reasons we do not quite understand. They have made no move to surround the town and remain to the south.” Gideon removes his spectacles and cleans them before resettling them. “By my count—and please keep in mind this is only a rough estimate—there are currently between two and three thousand restless dead outside the gate.”
His pronouncement is met with a chorus of gasps. I cannot help but wonder how the man thinks making everyone panic over the very obvious problem of the dead is going to help anyone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please, please, I am not quite finished.” Gideon stands a little straighter and begins to pace across the dais, eating up the space with his long stride. His gait is uneven because of his slight limp, but his voice is powerful and carries above the ruckus. People begin to quiet once more.
“There is a solution that has not yet been explored, and that is what I would like to present to you all today.” Gideon looks out over the room and gestures toward the back. “Ida, would you join me up on the dais?”
Ida pushes past us without a word, making her way to the front of the church. I turn toward Sue in surprise and see my shock echoed in her expression. “Do you know what she’s doing?” I ask Sue.
She shrugs. “I get the feeling not many are privy to that girl’s truest thoughts,” Sue says.
Ida stands next to Gideon, looking about as happy as I’ve ever seen her.
“Ida here was a member of the Summerland patrols. I have been experimenting with an inoculation, a type of medicine that is injected into the bloodstream, and can counteract the effects of the undead bite. Should a person be bitten, the vaccine would keep them from turning. Assuming the wound is not fatal in itself.”
The room quiets even further. The only sound is a stray cough.
“Since last fall, I have been vaccinating each and every member of the Summerland patrols, including Ida here. As you can see, she remains healthy. The inoculation is safe. I know the council has some reservations in recommending everyone in town get the vaccine on account of the risk of turning—the vaccine is a distilled serum made from the blood and saliva of an infected person, after all. But as you can see, there is nothing to fear.”
The room explodes into chaos once more as people shout their questions at Gideon and Ida. She crosses her arms and stares defiantly at the back of the room, and I want to ask her why she is all of a sudden allied with Gideon Carr. Just yesterday she praised Jane’s reluctance to endorse the vaccine, and now she is up on the stage next to Gideon. What changed her mind?
A man surges to his feet yelling loud enough to be heard over the rest of the crowd. “So this injection of yours will cure the undead plague?”
“It won’t cure it, no,” Gideon says as people settle down enough to listen to his answer. “Once someone is bitten and begins to change they are lost. But my vaccine will prevent the plague from spreading in two ways. First, those who do not survive an undead attack will not rise upon expiration. And second, those who are bit but survive will not change. In short, not only will the vaccine enable you to survive an attack but no new restless dead will be created in the event of a town being overrun.”