Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(24)
I knew that what Auntie Aggie said was the truth. I’d witnessed Momma’s fits firsthand.
“But if I go, I’ll die,” I said, my voice half a whine.
“No, you won’t, Jane. Don’t you know that you’re special? Ain’t your momma told you as much?”
I shrugged, because Momma did always tell me what a special girl I was. But I didn’t always feel special. I mostly just felt different. After all, no one else could claim the plantation’s mistress as their momma and an unknown field hand as their poppa.
“Come here, Jane.” She swept me up into a fierce hug. “You are special, girl.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, my words muffled by her generous bosom.
Auntie Aggie laughed, voice husky. “Because I know things. I know that you got a great destiny ahead of you, just like your momma, and that Rose Hill ain’t no place for you, not anymore. You need to go out in the big, wide world and find yourself. And the big, wide world needs to find you. There’s a whole bunch of folk out there trying to figure out this plague, and ain’t nobody done it yet. You ask me, they might be wanting for some fresh ideas.”
I stepped out of the hug and frowned at Auntie Aggie. “Being out in the world ain’t gonna do me much good if I get gobbled up by shamblers.”
She nodded and reached into the pocket of her skirt. “That’s why I got you this. Miss Fi-Fi made it for you.” Auntie Aggie held out a necklace. It was simple enough, a penny with a hole in it so it could hang on a string. But I knew well enough that if Miss Fi-Fi was involved the necklace was more than what met the eye. Miss Fi-Fi was the woman you went to when you wanted to catch the attention of a handsome fellow, or when your menses were late but you weren’t looking to carry a child. Some folks called Miss Fi-Fi a healer. Most weren’t so kind.
“Momma don’t like hoodoo,” I said, but I still held my hand out for that necklace. I ain’t never been one to turn down a gift, even if it could be cursed.
“Your momma ain’t got to know. Miss Fi-Fi said you should wear this at all times, that it’ll warn you when there’s danger about. Now hurry, put it on before the truancy man comes and gets you.”
I took the necklace and slipped it over my head. The penny settled in the hollow of my chest, its weight warm and comforting.
“Now,” Auntie Aggie said, kissing me on each cheek, “go out there and tell that truancy man you’re ready to go to school.”
The one drawback to attending Miss Preston’s is the quiet. It is ever so calm and safe here, with most of us having not a care in the world beyond our studies. . . .
Chapter 9
In Which I Have an Accomplice and We Skulk in the Shadows
I’ve snuck out of Miss Preston’s many times. In the beginning it was because I was homesick, and it was a comfort to be able to lie on the sprawling lawn and know I was under the same big moon as Momma and Auntie Aggie back in Kentucky. I’d lie in the grass in my white hand-me-down nightgown and stare up at the sky, the occasional growls and moans of the shamblers at the barrier fence barely audible over the sound of my crying.
But that didn’t last long, and it got so that I was sneaking out less because I was homesick and more because I just enjoyed the freedom. There’s something about skulking around while everyone else is fast asleep that you can’t put words to. Eventually, after a few months or so, I got bored enough with the sneaking about to jump the barrier fence. After all, Auntie Aggie had sent me away from Rose Hill so that I could see the whole big world, and that meant something besides the grass of Miss Preston’s.
This was back when Baltimore County was filthy with shamblers, and sometimes I would hunt them in the dark, just another monster slinking through the deep shadows. Other times I would climb a tree and watch the folks dumb enough to travel at night, their whispers too loud, their reactions too slow. I would try to help out, jumping down from my perch and coming to their aid like some guardian angel. That was how I’d met Red Jack, curse my terrible luck. Most days I think I should’ve just let him get eaten.
But sometimes I couldn’t help the people on the road when the shamblers came. I didn’t risk taking a gun for these nocturnal excursions, and my sickles were only so fast. There were too many nights when jumping down to lend my steel would only have ended in my own demise.
Those nights were the worst.
My nightly wanderings more often than not ended well, and I learned a lot from the shamblers I watched. I figured out they preferred to hunt in packs, and that the old ones were slow while the new ones were just as fast as a regular person. I discovered that they couldn’t outrun a deer but they could take down a dog if given enough time. I found that their sight isn’t as good as it seems, but their hearing is much, much better. I learned that they can’t help but gather up in a horde, and the dead are never lonely, that their natural inclination is to have a lot of friends. And I discovered that shamblers are never, ever satisfied. They are always hungry. And just when you think you’re safe, when you let your guard down—that’s when they get you.
I also learned to tell the look of a man that’s been bit and the moment the change starts to take hold, the way he shakes like he’s got a chill and the way his eyes begin to yellow. I learned that I can be ruthless when I need to, and I can be merciful when I’m able. I learned that there is nothing to fear in the dark if you’re smart. And I had no doubt that I was pretty damn clever.