Page 1 of Capitol Matters

Even before I sawthe hazmat suits, I had a bad feeling about tonight.

We gathered poolside near the parking lot of the Lazy Daze Motel—a chilly meeting place for nighttime in New England and a depressing one at that. In the time I’d lived here, the pool had been filled with nothing but sludge and decaying leaves. Tonight’s view was no exception.

Something much more interesting happened a few feet away. Four members of the Bloody Hex had zipped themselves into white, plastic suits, looking like a huddle of human condoms. “Wrap it before you tap it” could have been the unofficial slogan of the night. Maybe later they’d do a team huddle and cheer.

I snickered.

“What’re you laughing at?” Vinton growled. His bald head gleamed in the moonlight.

“Just didn’t think it was possible for you to look evenmore like a dick,” I replied, earning a scowl before he resumed barking orders at the other men.

Maggie and I sat together on a dilapidated lounge chair, apart from the action, and unsure why we’d been asked to join at all. My marching orders of the past three weeks remained unchanged: keep my nose clean until Holland Lyle welcomed me into the Capitol’s employ.

It would have happened sooner, but then came the plague. As Grimm predicted, the humans reacted quickly. They quarantined the city, banning all travel in or out, indefinitely. The Capitol responded in kind, closing businesses and encouraging citizens to stay home to reduce the spread of the disease.

So far, there was no cure. Unless you counted the walking magic bullet, Ripley Vaughn, who lined up with the rest of the gang members before me now. But, since the current theory was foodborne illness stemming from a now-defunct breakfast buffet, the plague doctor himself remained our little secret.

Vinton rehashed the plan while the others nodded along, bobbleheads all. I already knew Ripley had his earbuds in and hadn’t heard a word, while Avery covered his third yawn in as many minutes.

In contrast, my brother Donovan was rapt. His first near month as an official member of the Bloody Hex had gone better than I’d hoped. Grimm had been right about him, too. He was the ideal follower. Eager to please. Obedient. Happy. So, I should have been happy, too. Right?

Maggie tugged suddenly on my hair, her fingers snagged in the latest attempt at a braid. I swore andcaught myself from falling into the gap between broken straps of the long chair seat.

The zombie girl grabbed both sides of my head and straightened it before resuming work. Ignoring pulls and occasional pinches to my scalp, I tuned into the conversation I’d heard a half-dozen times before tonight.

“Avery, you’ll take point,” Vinton said. “Disable cameras. Cut the power if you have to. Donovan, destroy anything you can find. Vials, bottles, petri dishes, whatever. Ripley—”

“Make sure you lot don’t poison yourselves.” The teen goth king rolled his eyes. “I’ve got it.”

The job, raiding a bio lab a few miles away, intrigued me. Honestly though, anything would be an improvement on playing beauty parlor with a zombie for the rest of the night. After braiding would be nail painting, I already knew, and I’d only just scrubbed off the pastel polish from last week.

The pep talk concluded as the men filed into the adjacent lot to board what could only be described as a predator van. The unmarked, white box of a vehicle wasn’t nearly as inconspicuous as Vinton said it would be. The PPE was about the same, but Avery rarely missed a chance to flex his conjuration skills. Though, he had yet to pull up the hood over his grease-slicked side part.

Maggie paused to wave and blow a kiss at Ripley, which he returned before closing the van’s double back doors. Taillights flashed, then the car rolled slowly out of sight.

When I stood, Maggie whined.

I glanced down to find her blood red eyes crinkled in confusion.

“Sorry, doll, gotta run.” I patted the top of her pigtailed head. “And you should get inside. It’s cold out here.”

Forgoing my babysitting duties came with some measure of risk. Zombies, even barely legal ones who wore striped stockings and ribbons in their hair, were considered a public menace. And Maggie was not known for following instructions or staying where she was put.

She frowned and gave a petulant huff before rising and stomping back to her motel room.

When the door slammed shut behind her, I crossed the lot toward the red Porsche 911 parked in the far corner. Dropping into the driver’s seat, I shoved the keys into the ignition and stirred the Porsche to life.

It shouldn’t have been possible for me to beat the rest of the gang to our shared destination, but Vinton was 110 years old, and he drove like it. Plus, I knew a shortcut.

Ten minutes later, I whipped into the deserted parking lot of DiaLogix Labs. No sign of the pedo van. Perfect.

I rescued a snuffed cigarette and battered matchbook from the center console, lighting up and taking a drag as I slid out of the coupe.

Posted business hours said the lab closed at 6 PM, making this ten o’clock jaunt well beyond normal operation. They’d planned it that way, of course. Crime looked better in the dark.

Crisp night air wound ribbons around me as Ihurried along the side of the building. It was a moderately-sized place, single-story, unassuming, and poorly lit. Only the green glowing letters spelling out DiaLogix and a lone lot light warded off the black of night.

The back corner of the place had a loading dock where the gang planned to enter. Just because I wasn’t invited to the party didn’t mean I hadn’t listened to the plans. The loading area was used for sending and receiving supplies and boasted the weakest security in the building.

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