Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(14)

“What you doing here, girl? This ain’t no place for your kind.”

“That’s right.” The taller, leaner cop looms over me, and I duck my head in a pose of mock humility. Behind them, Katherine draws herself up, a huffy look coming over her, and I shake my head just a little.

“Why, I jes looking for m’lady. She’s come here for dis lecture, and shore enuff I done lost her.” I shake my head like I am the dumbest Negro to ever walk the earth. For a moment I’m afraid it’s too much. But there’s no danger of that with these two.

“Oh yeah, and who’s this lady you’re looking for?” Gap Tooth moves close enough that I can smell his foul breath and I’m wishing I had a pocket full of mint to offer him.

“Why, the mayor’s missus, of course. I brought her broach, ’cause she don’t like to go out without it. She got it from the Belle of Baltimore herself! That fool Attendant of hers forgot it, and the house girls sent me out with it.” I paw at my skirts, like I’m looking for something. “Now where did I put that fool thing?”

I keep feeling around like I’m searching for something small. There’s movement out of the corner of my eye and I look up and scream, giving it all I got. The cops stumble back a little, reaching for their billy clubs.

“It’s the dead! I just saw one, oh Jesus, oh Lordy, oh good God above, please help me. Where’s the patrol when you need them? This is why it ain’t safe in the city, no matter what those politicians would tell you. It ain’t safe!” I fall to my knees on the steps of the entryway and begin to pray, like I’m absolutely terrified. A few passersby on the street look at me and then hurry in the opposite direction of where I point. I sob and even manage to squeeze a few tears out. It’s overkill, but ain’t no sense in doing something if you ain’t going to go for broke. “Shamblers in the city! Oh what is this world coming to when even the city ain’t safe? Ain’t nothing but dead walking around in Baltimore, and we’re all gonna end up joining them.” I shake my head in denial, like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

Here’s a thing about me: I have always considered pursuing a life on the stage if this whole killing-the-dead thing doesn’t work out.

The police officers don’t know what to do, looking between me and the street where I pointed, their confusion clear. I look up from my praying and give them a look of complete alarm, widening my eyes till they near water from the effort. “What—what are you still doing here? Ain’t you gonna go catch that shambler?”

They look at each other and take off down the avenue in the direction I point. I jump to my feet and approach Katherine, who watches me with a scowl.

“What was that?”

“Now don’t go giving me that sour look. That was just a bit of acting. My momma always said the best way to get what you want from people is to give them what they think they want. They expected me to be stupid, so I used that to our advantage.”

I move to enter the university, but Katherine doesn’t budge. “You just lied to officers of the law,” she says. “And why were you talking like that? You never talk like that.”

I shrug. “Sometimes you have to live down to people’s expectations, Kate. If you can do that, you’ll get much further in life. Now quit dallying and get inside before they come back.”

I push Katherine ahead of me through the fine double doors, anxious to escape before what passes for lawmen return.

The lecture hall is inside and to the right of the main entryway and we easily find our classmates. They sit in the last two rows of the room, the space reserved for Negroes. If the hall had a balcony we’d be up there, but it doesn’t. Directly in front of us are a few of Baltimore’s educated colored men, who teach at the city college for Negroes. I recognize a few of them from their visits to Miss Preston’s. Most of them are Survivalists, and I don’t much care for their message of knowing one’s place and following along with the natural order. “Grow where you’re planted,” they say, while telling us what great futures we’ll have bowing and scraping for our white betters. Seems to me those “enlightened men” worry more about keeping the mayor happy than the plight of colored folks.

It’s surprising our class was even able to get seats. The lecture hall is packed to the rafters. Toward the middle of the audience is a group of well-dressed ladies, their pale skin glistening in the heat. Their dark-skinned Attendants are stationed along the wall, looking bored. Katherine eyes the white ladies, with their fine clothes and decorative fans. There is hunger in her gaze before her usual expression of disdain returns. I understand that look, though. Those ladies are the crème de la crème of Baltimore society, and their brightly colored dresses are the height of fashion. Who wouldn’t want to be one of them?

But that ain’t our future. Ours is leaning against that wall, ready to give our lives for a few coins, should it come to that.

In front of the ladies, closest to the podium, are the men. Most of them are large, their width an indication of their wealth, and Mayor Carr is largest of all. He’s a big bull of a man, dominating the second row, wearing the red-and-white-striped ascot of the Survivalist Party. Survivalists believe that the continued existence of humanity depends on securing the safety of white Christian men and women—whites being superior and closest to God—so that they might “set about rebuilding the country in the image of its former glory,” the way it was before the War Against the Dead. I don’t particularly hold no truck with the notion, since being a Negro pretty much puts me in the inferior column. But people really seem taken with the mayor, especially those that are just as pale as he is.