The Burning World (Warm Bodies #2)(71)

“I know,” Julie mumbles. “It’s not funny.”

I shrug, still chewing. “It’s kind of funny.”

“It’s a dead baby joke.”

I hear something in her voice that makes me stop chewing. That note of disquiet I heard back in the cabin, of disturbed sediment clouding the ocean floor. “Harsh assessment,” I say to the back of her head as she presses her nose to the window. “You don’t think they have a future?”

She’s quiet for a moment, peering into the darkness. “I do. I just wish it didn’t have to be in a world like this.”

“Maybe it won’t be,” I offer, but I’m unable to give the sentiment much weight. It passes through her and out the window like a feeble ghost.

She pulls an in-flight magazine out of the seat pocket in front of her and leans back. She studies the model on the cover, a woman of a species no longer found on Earth, coiffed and painted, nourished and toned, beautiful in a way that’s no longer recognizable as human.

“I used to read everything I could find about the old world,” Julie says, and begins to flip through the brittle pages. “I studied it like mythology. And I always wondered what people I knew would’ve been like back then, when life was just a bunch of choices. Your beliefs, your priorities, where you live and what you do . . .” She pauses on an ad for a garish Broadway musical and smiles bitterly. “Can you imagine having all those options? Being surrounded by that cloud of potential just waiting for your decision?”

She continues flipping the pages. Restaurants. Movies. Museums. She stops on an ad for the University of Michigan, and her smile fades.

“My mom grew up in that world.” She stares at lush photos of libraries and art studios, groups of friends laughing hysterically. “She wasn’t rich or anything, but it was pre-collapse America. She was working with a palette I can’t imagine.” She runs her fingers over the wrinkled paper, the faded ink. “Having that world and then losing it . . .” Her voice falls to a murmur. “It’d haunt you forever, wouldn’t it? How could you let go?”

She stuffs the magazine back into the seat pocket and closes her eyes for a moment. Then she opens them and turns to me. “What was in that cabin, R?”

I don’t answer.

“What are they trying to do?” She’s almost pleading. “How much more fucked is this place going to get?”

I should probably try to reassure her, squeeze her hand and recite some canned comforts, but I’m looking through her into the dark hole of the window and I’m seeing graves and fires, steel bars and brown teeth and—

“Hey.” Nora is leaning out of her seat, watching us from across the aisle while M snores softly against their window. “We might not have to find out.”

“What do you mean?” Julie says.

Nora shoots a glance at the cockpit, then gets up and jerks her chin toward the coach section. Julie nudges me out of the row and we follow Nora through the curtain.

“Take a look,” Nora says, pulling a thin yellow pamphlet out of her pocket and handing it to Julie.

Julie skims the first page. Her eyes dart up to Nora. “Where’d you find this?”

“We went looking for you in the airport lobby and they were taped up all over.”

“Why is DBC still posting in airports?” Julie wonders as she begins to read.

Nora shrugs. “I saw a lot of notes on the walls. A few fresh shits on the floor. Maybe airports are still traveler hubs.”

“Nineteen from BABL . . . that’s last year, right?”

“Yeah. Practically breaking news. Check the last page.”

Julie flips to the end, reads it, and grins. “I knew it. I fucking knew it!” She shoves the pamphlet into my hands. “Can you read this, R?”

The crudely photocopied mess resembles either an old-fashioned DIY “zine” or a madman’s manifesto.

The crazed handwriting is barely legible, but I can read it. Understanding it is another matter.





“What is this?” I ask, handing the pamphlet back to Julie.

“It’s the Almanac!” Julie says, aghast at my lack of savvy. “Even you should know the Almanac.”

“People . . . believe this info?” I brush a finger over the schizophrenic scrawl, the drawings of surreal monsters.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, R. Most people don’t know what’s happening a mile outside their shelters. DBC’s been combing the country up and down for like ten years and they leave a new report whenever they pass through. It’s sketchy news, but it’s news.”

“I got so excited the first time I found one,” Nora says wistfully. “Felt like my favorite band had come to town.”

Julie smiles. “Me and Mom had a secret pact that if we ever found them, we’d leave Dad and run away with them.” Her smile falters, begins to cool.

“But back to the point,” Nora says. “Iceland, right? Sounds promising, right?”

“Right.” Julie hands the zine to Nora. “You do the talking. I’ve pushed him far enough today.”

Nora nods and heads for the cockpit.

“Iceland?” I ask Julie, lowering my voice. “You’re sure that’s the answer?”