by Cody Wagner
If I thought the energy outside the barricade was bad, the inside was that to the power of fifty (that’s right, I used my math skills). I could hardly breathe and spread my shoulders to let in more air. In doing so, I accidentally ran into a man, who shoved me into Roze.
“Get off me, homo,” he said.
Stunned, I noticed every person around me left space around himself or herself, like a tiny territorial bubble. It felt tense and macho. A few people glared at us as we walked by, and I could feel Roze and I drift apart a few feet in an attempt to fit in. At that point, I retreated to that chamber in my brain for the first time in months. Sexuality is a part of self. I wasn’t saying it because I was worried they might change me. It just felt safer.
Then the chanting began.
In unison, the Zealots recited nasty blurbs about how perverted gays were. They expressed pure, disgusting joy at all people who had died because of “the fags”. They didn’t hold back on the cursing, either.
That was it. No haunting female voice urging people to join them.
I looked at Jimmy to see if his face gave anything away. He still glanced around and counted silently to himself. He was definitely doing reconnaissance of his own. But he didn’t look any different after hearing the chant. Neither did anyone else.
When we reached the back of Zimmerman’s Zealots, Luke gathered us together for the last time. He gave us a commanding nod, then mouthed, “Go.”
It was time. We dispersed into the crowd. I made sure to stick with Roze and Jimmy, eyes fixed on their backs like a tether. We filtered through Zimmerman’s Zealots until I couldn’t see any other students. Scanning the area, I thought we blended in well enough. I didn’t have camouflage, but my old jeans and denim shirt were pretty common. And quite a few members wore masks; apparently, we weren’t the only ones going incognito.
Ten minutes later, I stopped at a spot that looked OK. We had a few feet of space to prepare our stuff and get ready. I could also see all the way to the front of the Zealots, meaning our signs might get some visibility.
“What do you think?” I asked Roze, leaning in so that my mouth practically touched her ear.
“I can’t believe there’s this many of them,” she said.
“I know.”
“And I heard they’re growing like crazy.”
“And we have no idea how many are under control.”
Roze nodded. “Some of these idiots are here of their own accord.”
I shook my head at that one and looked at Jimmy. He was eying a man right next to us. I tensed, nudged Roze, and gestured to the guy. Roze took a deep breath, pulled out her phone and snapped a couple pictures. I inched closer and studied him. His eyes were dilated but, other than that, there was nothing different about him. I sniffed. Maybe Zealots under control all smelled like crap, because this guy sure did.
Shaking my head to dispel the stench, I went back to Roze.
“Well?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea what Jimmy sees.”
“Well, let’s get ready.”
I nodded and went to work. Crouching, I turned my sign around and removed the paper covering the homophobic slogan. Reading the awful words, I shuddered before taping the paper over the pro-gay front. As I finished up, thoughts of the Siren ran through my head. We didn’t hear singing yet people here were definitely under control. Did we miss her? If so, how long did her mind control last?
“Oh my God.”
I jerked up. “What?”
“Look,” Roze said.
“Huh?”
She gestured to the people around us.
Six men had surrounded us, staring. Like the guy we’d just photographed, their eyes were unfocused and dilated, and they swayed like my drunk Aunt Shannon. They looked like zombies. Actually, they looked like starving zombies, and we were their meal.
No, not we. It was Jimmy; their eyes fixed on him with a crazy hunger. Even with his mask on, they knew him; recognition sparked on their faces. Worse, the behavior was spreading. One by one, more people found us and, when their gazes found Jimmy, they converged.
Fear hummed in my throat. How did they know?
Fear sizzled down my back.
Jimmy realized what was happening and whimpered, “I have to get to Sanctuary. Now.”
Hearing his fear jolted me into action. I spun around and grabbed his elbow. “We have to get him out of here.”
That’s when the alarm on Roze’s phone went off and pandemonium erupted.
Paint balloons filled the air, crashing down on peoples’ heads. One hit a woman next to me and pink paint shot across the ground, coating my shirt like blood. All around me, I heard the pops of rubber and sprays of paint across the asphalt. I couldn’t help but marvel at the attack. It was like a hail of arrows raining down on the enemy.
Seeing the attack coming from within their own ranks set Zimmerman’s Zealots off. An all-out brawl erupted. It was like a bar fight in an old time saloon—fists and bottles and food slammed into walls. A hamburger hit a guy in the face, leaving a line of ketchup running down his cheek like blood. A couple women slipped in the paint and dragged their neighbors down (I guess the territorial bubble didn’t matter when being aggressive).
Amid the chaos, chanting filled the air.
It was the Sanctuary team. Our signs sprouted like wheat. I peeked at my own laying on the ground, but didn’t move to grab it; they didn’t matter anymore. Balloons continued to fly. One hit my back and pink exploded everywhere.
Roze grabbed my shoulder. I turned to her and she pointed out to the barricades. A flock of people with cameras and microphones sprinted toward us. Our plan was working and I felt a jolt—this was the diversion we needed!
“Let’s go!”
Turning, I realized we weren’t in the back of the crowd anymore. Somehow, in the midst of the commotion, we’d become surrounded by hundreds of manic Zimmerman’s Zealots with death in their eyes.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed Jimmy and pushed him in front of me. I nodded at Roze and she stepped to the front. Keeping Jimmy sandwiched between us, we made our way through the crowd.
In that moment, part of me worried my brain might shut down, like it did sometimes, and I’d stand there gaping like an idiot. That didn’t happen. Instead, an unexpected calm took over and I moved quietly and smoothly, one hand resting on Jimmy’s shoulder.
As we moved, the chaos grew worse. Although the balloons had stopped, fold-up chairs and coolers began flying. A glass of something landed next to my right foot and shattered into my shoe. I jumped and cursed. I was more scared than I’d ever been, but repeated, “Get Jimmy out,” over and over, and kept pushing forward.
Suddenly, a huge man barreled into us. Pain shot up my shoulder as he, Jimmy, and I toppled. The man didn’t bother to utter an apology as he pushed himself up off of Jimmy’s head, pulling his mask with him. The idiot took a bull-like stance and went to ram the guy who’d pushed him. He glanced down at the mask in his hands and looked back at Jimmy. At first, he was confused, probably because he was holding pantyhose. Then, like the other Zealots, recognition hit. I didn’t have to see Jimmy’s face to know that this was bad.
A deep growl built in the man’s throat and, forgetting about his assailant, he pounced at us. Jimmy shrieked as the man landed and lunged for Jimmy’s throat.
It was at that moment I understood the phrase, seeing red. In a daze of anger, I screamed and dove on the man, madder than I’d ever been in my life. Hurling curse words like grenades, I wrapped my arm around his neck and tried pulling him away. Shaking with fury, he flung his head back, ramming my left eye. My face erupted, spots swirled in my vision. Adrenaline shielded me from the pain, and I yanked at his hair.
I heard yelling and forced my injured eye open. Roze kicked his side so hard, he grunted in pain. Seeing her gave me strength, and I jerked a fistful of hair. The man yelped and swung behind him. His fist caught the side of my neck.
Seconds later, the Zealot
’s punches got weaker, and hope crept in; we could wear this guy down. Suddenly, sausage hands squeezed my neck, and I felt myself flying. I landed on my shoulder and gravel tore into my arm. I didn’t stop to wipe off the blood. Leaping up, heaving, I turned to get my bearings.
We weren’t alone anymore. A group of those zombie Zealots had gathered in a ball. They were inching toward us, looking for an opportunity to strike. Another wave of terror shot up my back.
I looked at Jimmy. The man had him pinned to the ground. Jimmy yelled, his legs shuffling in a futile attempt to kick free. His eyes caught mine. I expected them to scream, Help me! Instead, he wheezed, “Get out!”
Seeing Jimmy being crushed—and still putting my safety over his—something took hold of me. It was a protectiveness I had never felt before. A calm fury gripped my soul. I heard myself growling. It was almost inhuman, like a rabid wolf. I lowered my head and charged the man on Jimmy. I’d heard that, in times of stress, people had been known to lift cars. That must have been what happened, because, when I reached the man, I lifted him off Jimmy as if he were a feather. The man screamed in surprise as I smashed him into the ground.
I howled in victory and ran back to Jimmy when bodies crashed on top of me. They pressed on my back like concrete and I fell to my knees over Jimmy’s chest. My knees gave out and I collapsed on top of him. The air squeezed out of my lungs as they piled on top of us.
A muffled scream coming from somewhere outside reached me. Roze! She wasn’t trapped in the pile. With the last bit of air I had, I screamed, “Get help!” She must have taken off because I didn’t hear her after that.
With Roze gone, it hit me: I was alone. No one else could save Jimmy. The thought gave me another boost of adrenaline. I managed to plant my arms down on Jimmy and pushed myself up. It was the hardest push-up I’d ever done. The guy on my back fell off. His momentum dragged down the guys around him.
I flipped over and leapt up, swinging. Animal instinct took over. I caught a guy in the jaw and he stumbled back. Another walked back in and I jabbed him in the eye. Two guys jumped me at the same time. I kneed one in the stomach, but the other rammed my chest so hard, I collapsed. Fists flew all around me. I turned and saw Jimmy flailing like crazy. Somehow, he had gotten up, and was kicking a man trying to get at me. His screaming pierced the air.
I didn’t want Jimmy fighting. I wanted him safe.
With my last bit of strength, I shoved Jimmy away with my foot.
“Run!” I yelled.
It was all I could say before the men were back on top of me, crushing me. I couldn’t move, and felt the air squeezing from my lungs.
As my body wracked itself for air, I found myself on a wooden floor surrounded by NBA defenders. A huge arena of fans roared around me. It was so incredibly vivid. I was standing at the top of the three-point line dribbling back and forth between my legs. I juked, and the defender stepped back. Seizing the opportunity, I launched the ball. It flew in slow motion towards the hoop as the clock counted down. 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . .
As the seconds ticked down, everything around me grew darker and darker. This was it. I pictured Molly laying her bag of M&Ms on my casket and mom sobbing as she placed a Nancy Drew book in my arms. Dad stood there, trying to be strong for his family, but I could see the pain in his eyes. It was too much and, as the pain intensified, I felt myself crying along with my family.
Then I felt lighter.
For a second, I thought it must have been what death was like, but I definitely saw sunlight and bodies. One by one, the guys were getting off me. I had no idea why, but tried to continue my fight. It was useless; even after I was free, my damaged body felt like it was crushed. I was hurt, completely helpless, and waited for the next round.
It never came. Instead, the Zealots exchanged a look, then joined the rest of the chaos as if nothing had happened. I lay there, confused and gasping for breath, when it hit me.
Jimmy.
Whimpering, I tried calling to him, but nothing came out. The simple act of breathing was agony; I must have had fractured ribs. I didn’t care about the pain, though. I only cared about Jimmy. He had to have gotten away.
“Please please please,” I said to myself.
I listened for a few more seconds but, when I didn’t hear anything, panic took over and, gathering every last bit of strength, I howled his name.
Nothing.
My entire body began trembling. He has to be OK. He has to be OK. He’d run away, like I told him to. Ignoring the tremendous pain in my lungs, I put a hand down, pushed myself up, and looked around.
Jimmy lay on the ground a few yards from me.
The pain in my lungs vanished, and I went to him. Everything moved in slow motion. My arms pushed through the air as if it were syrup. Jimmy lay on his side away from me. Reaching him, I carefully turned him on his back. I heaved his name. Nothing. I said it louder. Still nothing.
Seeing his blank face, I felt like I was having a seizure. Choking out a sob, I knelt down next to him, and gently placed a desperate hand on his shoulder.
“Jimmy?”
I heard a whimper.
Slowly, Jimmy opened his eyes and looked back at me. He didn’t look scared, but his eyes frantically reached for mine. I wanted to look at him forever, to comfort him, but I had to make sure he was OK. Grabbing his hand to let him know I wasn’t going anywhere, I checked his face, neck, and stomach.
Blood oozed from a wound in his gut. A pool of red spread on the ground behind him.
I lost it and began sobbing. I pulled him to me and hugged him. He winced but I felt his arm squeeze me back. After a few seconds, his blood smeared my shirt.
Heaving, I yanked off my shirt and pressed it against his stomach. I began screaming for help. I screamed and screamed. My screams blended into the chaos around us. I looked around for someone from Sanctuary. All I saw were waves of Zealots crashing into each other. One caught my eye and turned away as if we were garbage piled in the street.
Jimmy grabbed my hand. I looked down. His face was pale and his breathing ragged. Feeling my legs give out, I crumpled over him. My tears fell on his face. A year of playing Pictionary and reading monologues and decorating janky Christmas trees flew through my head.
He tried to speak but began coughing. He coughed until blood splattered his face. I had to get someone. Surely, Roze was trying to find us. I jumped up when I felt myself being jerked back down.
I fell onto my knees and looked at Jimmy. His eyes were wide open and full of fire. I’d never seen him this way and I felt myself inch back as he squeezed my wrist. It’s like something had taken control of his mind.
“Find the Siren, Blaize,” he demanded. “You have to find out who she is. Help the school find her.”
Gripping him back, I leaned forward and choked out, “I will.”
“Promise me.”
At that, I couldn’t speak, and feebly nodded at him. But I meant it. I’d search the ends of the world for the Siren. Without question.
Jimmy sensed my resolve and the fire faded.
“Then take my necklace,” he whispered. “Please.”
I looked down and saw the edge of a chain falling into his shirt. Reaching down, I gingerly pulled the chain until a locket emerged. Two well dressed men had been intricately engraved on it. A pair of spectacles covered a part of them. Where the lenses overlapped the men, only bones were visible, as if the glasses were x-rays. I had never seen anything like it before.
“Put it in my hand.”
I did and Jimmy said, “Now hold my hand.”
I grabbed him and felt the locket’s metal press into my palm.
“Now what?” I said.
“You can’t let go until I die.”
I yanked my hand away. “No. I won’t do that!”
His eyes, almost closed, found mine. A remnant of the fire remained.
“Blaize.” His voice was pleading and commanding. This wasn’t the goofy, insecure Jimmy I’d spent the year wit
h. The Jimmy who lay under me was a completely different person: older, strong, and resolute.
Closing my eyes, I put my hand in his. He clasped me and started coughing again. It was horrible and wet and messy. My hands shook so hard, I could barely hold onto him. A few minutes later, he went calm and we sat there, looking at each other, until his eyes shut.
I lost control and pleaded with him, begging him to come back. It did no good but I begged until I was hoarse. Delirious, I couldn’t think what else to do, so I leaned in and kissed him, for the second time. This time it felt right. His grip on my hand lessened. I flew forward and put my head on his chest, crying. I soaked his shirt.
Suddenly, my hand started getting warm. I looked down, hoping Jimmy had returned, that, somehow blood was flowing through him again.
It was the locket.
I tried to keep a grip of his hand—I never wanted to let go—but the locket became so hot, I had to pull away. The second I did, a tingle spread through my body. Splinters poked their way through my blood. It was agony and I closed my eyes to fight the pain.
As soon as it began, the sensation disappeared and my blood cooled.
I stared down at the locket. Nothing else happened, so I wiped it clean and placed it around my neck, knowing I’d never take it off.
Glancing up to the sky, as if watching Jimmy’s soul floating, I caught movement from the corner of my eye. I looked over to see Roze standing there, covering her mouth. She was surrounded by Luke, Darrin, and a small group of students. I could see Roze trying to process what was happening. She sobbed once, fell to her knees, and cried into me.
I knew she’d always blame herself, like I would. But it wasn’t her fault. She did everything she could. I tried telling her as much, but nothing came out.
As we held each other, a strange well of anger began building up and coursing through me. Because of Zimmerman’s Zealots, my friend was dead. My innocent, charming, enthusiastic, loyal friend was dead. Murdered. I’d never see him cutting up his food again, or telling weird stories, or performing amazing monologues.
Clenching my jaw until it hurt, I forced myself upright and proud, although my chest throbbed in protest. The Zealots were disbanding, probably because they didn’t want to be associated with the scene. However, I saw a man nearby, wiping his sign with a rag as he fled. Before I could stop myself, I ran to him, whipped him around, and pulled my fist back.