by Keys, Logan
“Pause!” she yells, and the music cuts out. “Whassup, Tom-Tom?”
“Nothing.”
Her pert head tilt begs to differ. “You’re acting stranger than usual. Got that parental face on. Something happened in the field.”
I open my mouth, but her eyes grow wide. The vampiness gives her some type of third sight, which sometimes makes her far too perceptive, and she’s seeing something on me.
“Bad,” she says softly, falling down onto the couch to sit. “Real bad.”
“Nah,” I reply, and swallow the urge to grab her and make sure she’s actually here, not all burned away.
My eyes sting, while hers do that thing where the black dots narrow until she looks twice her age.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I say.
“Come sit.” She smiles softly, patting the cushion. “We’ll put on one of those stupid shows you like so much, the one where they used to build bikes.”
I smile, then do as she says.
She leans against me, and we find a build-a-thon.
“Did you have a bike?” she asks.
“Yep. Built a couple, even.”
“So, then, how come your tattoos aren’t bikes?”
“You want some popcorn?” I don’t want to talk about anything but the basics tonight. I’m drained.
“Sure,” she says, dipping her hand in and out of the bucket.
Munching on cheddar-dusted kernels, I sigh. Tastes like sawdust. I miss the days when my family would make their own kettle corn. I can imagine it now—the smell, and my mom …
Then, I picture Murphy with his blown up head.
Joelle peers up at me, mouth twisting. “I might not have a heartbeat,” she says, “but I can still have a heart-to-heart, you know.”
I cringe at the thought. Just with so much death today.
“I thought you had a heartbeat,” I say, feeling sort of creeped out, though trying not to let it show.
“No,” she says, looking worried I’ll actually be creeped out.
“Whoa, it is like you’re dead, then. Can you not be killed?” I ask hopefully.
“What!” she shouts, and I realize too late I’ve said a terrible thing.
All after the fact, I see how it sounds.
“You’re not dead just because of that,” she screeches. “Feel me, Tommy. I’m not even cold! And I walk just like you. I’m not even pale, like the ones on TV.”
She is, though, pale as a lily in the night, and cold to the touch. But I’m rarely stupid twice.
Her black eyes blaze, daring me to argue.
“I know,” I finally reply. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I was just hoping she’d say she was indestructible. But how to explain it to her, without revealing what happened?
Joelle’s still miffed. “If that’s all it takes, then you’re dead in the time between your heartbeats, too, you know.”
She’s caught me off guard with that one, and I laugh.
She giggles in return at my surprise, then we both crack up at the oddness of the argument.
But I’m serious again when I ask, “What if I told you that you being dead turns out to be my worst nightmare?”
Joelle softens with a shrug, though I can tell the question makes things better. She looks back to the show and over the clank of metal, faintly replies, “I’d say ditto.”
Kiniva’s not the same self-assured ring leader I’d first met. Instead, this man is anxious, pacing, and without his two dogs or a cigar. “So, have you come to see what’s left of this place?” he asks me.
“What?”
I’d talked myself through his guards tonight to ask about using the ring for Jeremy. But now that I’m here, my bravery’s gone missing.
“The people,” Kiniva says. “They’ve become too afraid. The fights got raided last time, and everyone’s run back into their tidy little holes. What do you want? I don’t have time for girls, or even spirits.”
“Jeremy Writer needs to speak to the black market. Rumor has it your army’s here now.”
Kiniva shakes his head. “Those purged ones are psychos. Blowing things up and stealing trains is nice, but they’ve been poisoned. And don’t you think the Authority knew some would get away? They’re waiting for the big bang …” He smiles at my surprise. “You thought I didn’t know? And once it goes down, they’ll call their little spiders back to them to turn on everyone who thought they had a chance. Even you.”
My jaw clenches against the laced truth to his words. “Let him speak, Kiniva. The people can decide for themselves.”
But he wipes his mouth. “Brave of you to come to me with questions like this, wants. You would have been a great general, you know? If I was to admit my army was here and they’d come to listen, to decide … you know they’d never listen to a woman, but you’ve proven to be quite a strategist in the hidden war.”
“Hidden war?” I’m sure I know what he means, but keeping him talking seems my best bet.
“People want change, but they don’t see how to make it happen. They tire of being dogs; they’ve obeyed for so long…. We leave soon. I’d rather be in the wilds than this fake civilization built on the backs of good people.”
His easy dismissal of Anthem, of us … it triggers something inside of me. “So you and your guns would leave the people here to fend for themselves? They don’t sponsor your entertainment anymore, so you’re no longer interested in a revolution, is that it?”
I’m surprised by my own vehemence, but not half as much as Kiniva.
He steps toward me. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“A coward!” I say, and then cover my mouth.
Kiniva rears back slightly. My voice is shaking, but so is my body. It trembles violently.
He regains his offense. “I’ll show you a coward!” And he charges forward.
But even before he reaches me, his eyes blossom with fear. Kiniva’s afraid, I realize. Something has changed his mind. What could a man such as he be so afraid of?
My words are soft and tinged with worry. “What is it, Señor Kiniva? Tell me.”
And for some reason, he does. “He wants to purge them all.”
“Who … all?”
Kiniva turns his back to me. “Everyone.”
“Reginald? He wants to purge all of the citizens? Why?”
He gives a sharp nod. Kiniva’s afraid of being drafted for the purge. That’s understandable—and then some.
“Then let Jeremy speak.”
“No.” He chops a hand in the air. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
I know I sound desperate, but the cause needs this. “At least hear what he has to say!”
Kiniva’s already dismissing me.
My measures go beyond rational. “Do you still have zombies?”
That makes Kiniva pause. “Yeah. So what?”
My hand has developed a mind of its own; it falls desperately onto his shoulder. “Another fight,” I say. “Something new to draw in the people. One final hurrah.”
He doesn’t pull away. “No one cares about the dogs anymore.”
“No, not the dogs. Between a zombie … and a Skull.”
Kiniva spins back and stares at me for so long without blinking, I’m fidgeting by the time he answers, “Done.” He grabs my hand in a shake. “Bring them at the end of the week. You give me a fight on Friday night, and on Saturday the arena is yours. Then everyone will remember that Kiniva left on a high note.”
The warehouse is almost empty when I leave the room; Kiniva’s last few vendors are packing up.
I’d just made a bad-bad promise. What was I thinking?
Across the empty room is just the person I’m looking for: Crystal.
The man she’s with is facing away, yet somehow his familiarity tingles my memory. Together, they speak quickly and quietly. Then, she eyes me for a moment before saying something that seems to make the man leave. He glances over his shoulder and my
heart stutters.
Pretend Man. I’m almost sure of it.
But he’s already gliding off.
“Hey, wait!”
Crystal steps in front of me when I get to that side of the warehouse. “What are you doing here?” she demands.
“Wait!” But she blocks me. “How do you know that doctor?” I ask after we do a two-step, back and forth.
Crystal watches me carefully. “What are you talking about? What doctor?”
“The man who was just with you. That man over—”
She moves to the side, and no one but the tattoo artist is there in his booth.
Crystal crosses her arms, arches a black eyebrow. “You strung out on something?”
“No. No. I just … I need to talk to you anyway. I told Kiniva a Skull would fight a zombie this Friday.”
“You what!” She laughs, grabbing my arm to steer me away from anyone who might listen. “That’s not going to happen,” she says under her breath.
“I don’t need an actual Skull to do it.”
Once we’re alone she says, “Explain.”
“I just need a mask and maybe some body armor. You guys have guard suits, right?”
Her eyebrows almost touch her hairline. “For who?”
“Me.”
She sniffs. “So you are strung out. Come on, let’s get you some help.”
I’m unfazed by her disbelief. In fact, I find it hard to believe, myself.
But I brace for the pain I self-inflict with my own statement. “It’ll help Jeremy.”
And like I’d hoped, Crystal is suddenly hanging on my every word.
The guard uniform is too big and it stinks. But it covers every inch of my skin, which was why I’d wanted it. In my hand is a skull ski-mask to hide the rest of me.
“You ready?” Crystal asks, though at my look, she laughs. “Yeah, I get that. Who’s ever ready to fight a zombie, right?”
It was hard to convince the rebellion’s leader to agree to help me. But in the end, she saw there was no choice, and without her help, I’d die … faster.
Pulling the cap on, I tuck my hair in underneath. “How many people?” I ask.
Crystal sniffs. “Everyone.”
“That’s good.”
“They can’t wait to see a Skull get ripped apart. This is the biggest show on the planet. Literally.”
My shoulders fall.
Belatedly, she adds, “You know, you don’t have to do this. Kiniva would let you back out … probably.”
“He wouldn’t, and you know it. Besides, he doesn’t know it’s me, and you’d pay for my fall out.”
She eyes me shrewdly. “Nahhh. I’d tell him it was one skinny gal named Liza that he’s after for payback.”
“I called him a coward.”
Her lip curls in disbelief. “No way.”
Crystal pulls open the door and a roar of noise spills into the room. Just up the incline stands the doors to the arena, where the chosen zombie waits to fight me.
“What did you tell Jeremy?” I ask.
Crystal shrugs. “Nothing. He’s here. He thinks it’s just a volunteer. He doesn’t know a thing. I’m still unsure how I’ll break it to him if I have to. ‘Sorry I helped your new girlfriend kill herself’ just doesn’t sound good no matter what spin you put on it. But I’m not going to stop you from doing what you think you need to do.” Something like admiration brightens her dull eyes momentarily. “He’ll never guess it’s you; no one will.”
“Good.”
“Besides,” she continues, “you’ll be far away and moving around …”
Neither of us say “and dead.”
When the arena doors open to reveal the lush crowd, my insides try to crawl out of my mouth. The place is packed—twice as full as before. Yet every person quiets when they see me, whispering things like, “He’s so tiny!” and “Gonna die quick, that one,” and “Probably for the best.”
Inside the arena, the zombie rushes at the fence, rattling it as if on cue. The bright lights blind me to everything but the monster at the end of my dead man’s walk. I’m waiting for that zap of energy I’d felt twice before, but my strength feels perfectly average.
The ski-mask is scratchy, and we’d marked the skin around my eyes black, too. Even though I’m far off for anyone to get a good look at me, Crystal thought the extra precautions might be wise.
This body armor is a nice disguise; it’s bulked me up to twice my actual size. Still … my zombie is huge. Compared to me, he’s a giant. Already at the cage’s edge, his blue face is braced hard against the chain-link, tasting the metal.
Kiniva takes no prisoners, it seems.
“What do I do?” I whisper to my one and only accomplice.
Crystal squeezes my arm and talks into my ear. “Like I know…? I’ve never fought one of these things. Just back out, Liza. Back … out.”
My breath’s ragged, but I shake my head when we get close. “Just do it. Just open the gate—now-now-now.”
She does, and with a rough shove, I’m inside with the creature.
The gate slams shut behind me, and the crowd erupts into a deafening, blurry sound. Cacophonies of their pitches collide, bouncing up to the roof before pressing down on my head with the greatest pressure.
It makes me panic.
Luckily, the creature had been distracted by some brave handler too near to the cage’s fence on the far end, but then, as if the zombie’s extra-predatorial senses kick in, he turns to face me.
If I expect him to charge toward me at mock speeds … then I would be correct.
These pet zombies are obviously fed.
There hasn’t been a time in my life I’ve been more scared. I’m locked in with a zombie, and no one is going to come help me or let me out. He’s quick, and here I am, a statue of fear.
My image of tonight’s events had been more gruesome, slow, and bloody. Instead, I’m ready to pee myself one moment, and the next, I’m counting stars, having been struck at full force and leveled into the dirt, thrown onto the sand like a rag doll. Immediately, he’s teething my neck while I’m still reeling, having not even tried to defend myself.
The guard outfit has a protective neck layer that’s hard to chew through, but he’s working at it in a sawing motion. Saliva’s already finding its way under the collar in a disgusting slimy feeling.
Chants from the crowd cut through our nonsensical melee, defining to some understandable calls—half for me to get up, and half simply jeering for him to finish me off.
If my new strength wants to kick in … any time now … The zombie’s realized my trickery and scratches at my outfit in gurgles of disappointment, wanting to undress me in the most unpleasurable of ways.
Since I’m not supernaturally strong, and I’m now wondering if I ever had been, worming out from under his arms will have to do. When there’s a momentary lapse in the biting, I squeeze through his legs like toothpaste in a tube.
Free and now running to the fence, I find the gate I’d been pushed through, but Crystal isn’t there anymore. Banging on it only makes the two gun-toting men waiting there, grin.
“Got yourself into a pickle, haven’t you, boy?”
Scanning the crowd, I locate Crystal in the stands. Her gaze is anxious, yet there she stays, feet planted, sorry that I’ve made such a choice, but unable to help me now.
The zombie’s given chase again, and we run a mad circle along the perimeter before my feet stumble upon my seeing someone else in the stands: Jeremy.
He watches, curious gaze mixed with disbelief. But no, he doesn’t know it’s me. He’s sure it’s just another Skull. A small and stupid one, a young one, but not me.
Then, after another ring around the not-so-rosy, I’m running low on energy. This time, near the gate, standing right behind the two men is him: Pretend Man.
So he had been with Crystal before. But why…?
The zombie catches me from behind, and we slam into the dirt. I twist my head to see Prete
nd Man, still there and still real, and he’s got that strange smile on his face.
Was that a nod?
He’d nodded at me.
He’s expecting it to happen again.
He knows it will.
But when?
I fight the urge to scream, When! When will it happen? How does it work!
The zombie’s torn through the back of my jacket, and with skin exposed, the attack intensifies. He’s close to biting me.
He holds me down—even my arms are pinned—while he works at the tear with a hungry savageness.
Fear brings on a rigid tension before it releases me from its mighty grip into that strange place again. One minute, the crowd is a dull roar, and the next, the noise mutes. An eerie stillness overtakes my senses, and everything aligns.
The zombie has some of my ski mask in his grasp. Soon … they’ll all see who I am.
Fabric bunches into my eyes as he pulls it up my face, revealing my chin.
It feels slow but must be quick, the roll that sets me on top of the zombie. I’m blind, yet able to overpower him anyway. I kick free and move to the center of the ring, fixing my mask.
That buzzing control is there. I’m that other me again, the new and shiny one with all the bells and whistles.
It makes me smile.
The zombie rises, too, and lunges, but I dodge him like he’s a child trying to get his ball back. My surge is here, tangible … and I can control it this time.
The crowd has become a small sound in the distance, rising with each second. They’ve changed their tune since this latest maneuver; they’re cheering me on.
“Kill him, Skull!” they chant, on and on.
I walk straight at the creature and, grabbing his arm, pull him over me; I toss him down face-first to kneel into his back. With my hands on either side of his head, I grimace at the thought of doing this again, but …
My gaze scans the crowd, first to Jeremy, then it floats down to Pretend Man, who’s nodding again with his pretend smile.
I spin the zombie’s head like a top.
I doze until morning comes. I’m ready to sleep for another day, but I have to get to formation, and Jo-Jo’s wilting next to me as the sun begins to “dose her,” as she calls it.
“I’m so bored,” she says with a generous yawn.
“Come on,” I tell her, “let’s say your prayers.”