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I squirmed, blushing. “I guess I’m a survivor.”
“That you are. A survivor with intellect you don’t yet appreciate. You proposed that the mosquito bites weren’t really mosquito bites. You uncovered the link between the water bottles and shamblers turning. And remember how you said you thought the combat mod might have stimulated the anesthetized parasite in Kyle? I tested the process as part of my inquiry into Kristi’s work, and you were right. You didn’t know the specifics of how it would function, but you came to a solid conclusion worthy of a hypothesis.”
I blushed more.
He regarded me, eyes deep and ancient and wise. “What do you want to do with your life? If you could have your heart’s desire.”
I started to blurt out a line about having peace and quiet, enough money to live on and keep my dad safe, a home. But that wasn’t what he meant. He wanted to know my impossible, secret dream. Tears pricked my eyes. “I like my work at the morgue, and I love biology, and I love working here with you, but I wish it could be more—wish I could be more.”
“In what way?” he asked quietly.
“Educated, so I could really help. Not just some classes in community college, but—” My old loser self tried to tell me I was making a fool of myself, that Dr. Nikas didn’t care about my stupid fantasy. But I knew better. I wasn’t being a fool, and Dr. Nikas cared for real. “I’d like to be a neurobiologist. I know it’s kinda crazy. I just—”
“Angel, there is no reason to not live your dream.”
“I’m just so far behind. I have the stubbornness to stick it out, but I’m already twenty-three and haven’t even finished one college course.”
He laughed, genuine and heartening. “Time is on your side, Angel. The Tribe will back you, and lord knows I will need help for many decades to come.”
I laughed with him. Of course time was on my side. I was a zombie. I threw my arms around his neck. “Thank you for believing in me. No, not just that. For helping me believe in myself.”
“You are one of a kind, Angel,” he said, smiling as I released him.
My phone alarm beeped. “Oh, shit! I have to get to the morgue, but I haven’t changed the gel in the head vats yet.”
“Go. Reg will take care of it.”
“He’ll lovvvvve me for that,” I muttered then brightened. “Ooo! Dr. Nikas. What do you think about getting Reg a cat? He was joking about it the other day, but I don’t think it was really a joke. He could keep it in the living area and media room and stuff. It wouldn’t be a bother in the lab. I could go to the shelter and find one that would be perfect for him. A surprise, y’know? But if you don’t think it would be good idea, I understand.”
His eyes brightened. “It is a splendid idea, Angel. Now, get yourself to work.”
Beaming, I scurried out, mind whirling with the conversation. And the possibilities.
Me. A neurobiologist. Dr. Crawford! Now, wouldn’t that be something?
• • •
Life continued to settle into a more normal routine. Andrew called Naomi, and they talked for close to an hour. Afterward, Naomi let us know that Kristi had been working on her own with regards to the LZ-1 epidemic, though using Saberton personnel and resources. She added that Andrew was already cleaning house of anyone who’d been involved in the nastier side of Saberton research and operations.
People continued to die in a variety of ways, both tragic and stupid, and made their way into the morgue. And I continued to judiciously harvest brains.
I had brains in my belly, and all was right with the world.
The FBI opened an investigation into Nicole Saber and her suspected ties to racketeering, fraud, kidnapping, and murder. Naomi and I celebrated with more ice cream.
Allen seemed pleased that Nick and I had finally progressed to dating. “I saw this coming when you first started working here,” he said, smug.
And when Derrel happened to catch us stealing a quick kiss in the morgue parking lot, he gave me a bone-squishing hug and declared, “I told you it would all work out!”
• • •
A week after Kyle’s funeral, I jerked awake to heavy pounding at the door. A bleary look at the clock told me it was 8 a.m. Ugh.
Grumbling, I tugged on a robe then shuffled out and opened the door. Nick stood on the porch with a backpack over one shoulder and a small cardboard box in his hands.
“Good morning, Angel,” he said, far too cheerfully. “There was a package for your dad on the porch. You look especially perky this morning!”
I gave him a middle finger and then a kiss. “I got called out at 2 a.m. to scrape a motorcyclist off the highway.”
