Hell Hath No Fury...

by Elsa Carruthers

  “My middle name,” he began. “It’s James.”

  I laughed so hard I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, so hard I knocked my forehead into his. “Jesse James? A Guardian named Jesse James?”

  “Later, I’ll show you my cowboy getup,” he said, reminding me that he was naked, wet, and most likely cold. I reached for a towel, but he stayed my hand. “Oh, no,” he admonished, pulling me to my feet. “You’re getting in this tub with me.”

  “I am?”

  “You are.”

  ***

  When I woke again, it was due to a rumbling noise like a train or garbage truck. I figured that Jesse had left the Picture Vision on, but hey, since his dad worked for the electric company I bet they got all sorts of free usage.

  “Turn it off,” I mumbled against Jesse’s neck. He murmured that there was nothing to turn off, then the very walls shook. Jesse’s eyes snapped open and he leaned over me and yanked up the window shade.

  “We’ve gotta get outta here,” he said as he pulled me out of bed. He disappeared through the bedroom door, but quickly returned with an armload of our clothes, still warm from the dryer.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. I deliberately didn’t look toward the window; usually, when someone told you to get going in the New Republic, you got gone first, and asked questions later. If you lived, that is.

  “Just get dressed,” Jesse mumbled as he laced up his left boot. He grabbed for the other, but I grabbed his arm. Finally he looked at me. “I’ll talk, but we need to leave. Serious.”

  I nodded as I perched on the edge of his bed and pulled my shirt over my head. He finished dressing and plunged into his closet, rummaging around until he located two flak jackets and a duffle bag.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer me. Something exploded, and the residence shook again, and bits of plaster fell from the ceiling. Jesse pushed me to the floor and lay on top of me, shielding me from the debris. When the rumbling ended, he rolled to his feet, taking me with him as he broke into a run.

  “There’s a pack of mutes headed this way,” he panted. “The rumbling is from Guardians attacking them.” I’d seen those attacks in the past; lots of explosions and flying body parts.

  “Where are we going?” Jesse threw open a door, and we ran down a dark staircase.

  “There’s a tunnel that’ll take you to the other side of the city,” he said when we reached the dirt floor. “You shoot?”

  “Arrows,” I replied. Everyone in the New Republic shot something, or you’d starve and get robbed. Jesse opened a tall, metal cabinet and grabbed a crossbow, then thrust it and a satchel of bolts at me. He started throwing items into each duffel bag; rations, bottled water, wool socks…

  “Wouldn’t one bag be easier to carry?” I asked.

  “I have to get to base,” he replied, refusing to look at me. I didn’t say anything, but then I didn’t need to; my silence told him how I felt. He was leaving me.

  When the bag was packed, he shoved it at me. I didn’t take it, so he let it fall to the ground and folded me into his arms.

  “Mina,” he murmured against my neck. “Mina, Mina, Mina, I have to get to base. Otherwise, they’ll call me a deserter.”

  “I know,” I said. My throat burned, my voice was ragged, but I would not cry. Not now.

  “The tunnel lets out by the market,” he said. “We’ll put down these creeps and I’ll come get you. Wait for me by the square.”

  “You’ll come?” I asked.

  “I promise.”

  ***

  I did what Jesse asked and followed the tunnel; but when I emerged, I didn’t see the market or the square. The commercial district was overrun with mutes, not the occasional harmless lurkers near the boundary. No, these were angry, dangerous creatures. They must have ransacked all the food stalls in the market and moved on to still-living snacks. Half-eaten squirrels, birds—was that a horse?—were scattered across the cobbled surface.

  The carnage was amazing. Complete. I had been to the market yesterday and it was full of people, full of life. Now, it was still full of people, but they were all dead.

  My eyes couldn’t look away, and they swept over the familiar stalls. There was the soup man; just yesterday, Jesse had bought a weak, flavorless broth from him. His soup was horrible, but he was a nice man, told lots of stories about the war, always careful to paint the New Republic as the rightful victors. I think I could see his gnawed off leg poking out from beside the tureens.

  The mutes noticed me and I was jolted out of my reverie. I didn’t have time to arm the crossbow, so I threw a rock, then a clod of dirt. Well, this just told the rest where their next meal was, and more mutes than I thought existed came at me. The government claimed that they only experimented on ten, maybe twelve at a time, so if they all mutated they could easily control them. There had to be at least twenty dead bodies dragging themselves toward me now, and was that—

  The soup man!

  He was one of the mutes!

  Cold, clammy sweat broke out across my neck and chest as I ran. I’d heard the rumor, that the government had a new drug that made the mutations not only likely, but contagious. The prevailing gossip was that they could use it as biological warfare: infect one member of the rebellion, and he infects the rest. Then, sit back and wait for them to eat each other. It was brilliant. Diabolical.

  It was chasing after me.

  ***

  That morning at the market was a week ago. Since then, I’d learned how the non-experiments were becoming mutes: fluid exchange. This bit of information was gleaned from two separate, yet equally horrifying, incidents.

  My second day on the run, I met up with a few of my friends from The Club, and a pack of mutes not long after. One of us, Chelsea, was bitten while we made our escape. She turned that night, but not before she bit Jamie and Dave. I managed to kill Dave, but the mutes who were once my friends ran off into the night.

  I was on my own for the next few days, until I took up with three uninfected humans. I didn’t bother to learn their names, just like they didn’t care about mine. Then the mutes came, and while no one got bit, a mute did bleed into an open wound on a man’s arm. He changed a while later, then he ripped the head off the nearest person. I think she was his daughter.

  So for, the past couple days, I’d kept to myself; being alone was better than everyone dying around me. I tried countless times to make it to the residences, to see if my family was alive…or not. Each time, I’d been thwarted by the roving mutes.

  But not this time. I hadn’t made it all the way to my residence, but I was in the nicer part of town where Jesse lived. I hoped to make it to his house, or maybe to the office where his mother worked. He would help me find my family. He would help me keep them safe.

  Jesse…

  No. He was not dead. He said he would come for me, and he will. If I believed anything else, I had to believe that.

  So I scraped off the pumpkin goo and opened the front door of the residence. It was nice, nicer than Jesse’s, even. Man, these people were into Halloween! After the war, the government made most holidays off-limits, citing reasons ranging from heresy to a way for rebels to exchange messages. Yeah, because if I was leading a rebellion I would send coded messages via the Tooth Fairy.

  The fairy’s loss was the goblin’s gain, and Halloween was now a month long event, eclipsing the grandeur that was once reserved for Christmas. There were parties, decorations, and weeklong candyfests that replaced trick-or-treating; even Guardians handed out candy. It was stamped with government propaganda, but hey, the chocolate tasted just the same. I was rifling through the homeowner’s stash when a cold hand grabbed my shoulder.

  I swung hard and knocked the mute back on its ass. I hadn’t even heard it approach, so blinded I was by the chocolate. A conspiracy flashed across my mind, that the government had put drugs in the Halloween candy that made everyone into mutes, but then three more appeared. Had I left the
front door open? Where were they coming from? I screamed, falling to the ground as I fought. I grabbed handfuls of cold, slimy flesh and ripped it from their bones, I stabbed at them with a bolt, but still they came. The last thing I remember was the thunk of my head on the hard floor.

  ***

  At first, I thought I was dead and floating on a cloud. I heard heavenly music wafting on the breeze, but then the station cut to the announcer and I realized I was sprawled across a dog bed, and the clock radio had gone off.

  I also realized why I thought I was dead: I wasn’t in any pain. I remembered the mutes gnawing at my feet and knees, the hands pulling at my hair… I shuddered at the memory of the mutes’ cold, clammy flesh roaming over mine. I couldn’t understand why they’d left, but if I had learned anything, it was to not question the few bits of good fortune I’d come across since I’d been separated from Jesse.

  Jesse…

  I hoped he was still alive. He had to be alive, he just had to be.

  I went into the master bathroom and turned on the shower; the water was icy cold, but I didn’t care. The mirror over the sink had been shattered, but I knew I must look like death warmed over. By the time I got under the spray, it had warmed to tepid. I just stood there for a moment as the water forced its way into my matted hair. At least the pressure was good.

  Once I had rinsed off the dried pumpkin and bits of mute, I wrapped myself in the cleanest towel I could find and made my way back to the master bedroom and found clothes for both a man and a woman. She and I were the same size, but we did not have similar taste. The drawers were full of brightly colored fabrics, sexy tops and skintight pants, the kind of clothing that got you picked up by a Guardian if you weren’t careful. I wondered who this woman was, and if she still lived. Or, if she was undead.

  I pulled on a pair of leather pants and a tank top, the only two black articles of clothing to be found. The absent homeowner—who I assumed was either a stripper or call girl—didn’t own any non-high heeled shoes, so I retraced my steps back to the kitchen for my boots. They had come through the influx of mutes fairly unscathed, so I shoved my sockless feet in them. As I laced up the second I was hit with a pang of hunger so strong I nearly doubled over.

  Am I sick? I had never experienced such a gut churning feeling in my life. This must be what it’s like to have a knife in your belly, I thought, as I finished up with my boots and launched myself toward the pantry. There were crackers, canned fruit and beans, protein rations. All of it could be found in any cabinet in any residence, and none of it appealed to me. I grabbed a protein ration and tore the wrapper with my teeth, then gobbled it down in an instant. The bar, which was supposed to be chocolate, was like wet sawdust as it glopped down my throat, and it didn’t so much as dent my hunger. Next I ate a fruit cup, then another; as I reached for the third I saw a can of chicken soup.

  I popped the lid and drank the broth straight from the can, and I was greeted by what I’d all but given up on finding: flavor. It was salty, and sweet, and… meaty. There was no more soup in the pantry, or any other meat products, but now I knew what would quiet my stomach. Meat.

  The fridge was sparse, holding mainly condiments and beverages. I grabbed the lone hunk of cheese and shoved it into my mouth; it did nothing for my now raging appetite. I was furious at whoever lived here—furious that she wouldn’t have a decent steak or chicken wing anywhere in this forsaken hovel—and I screamed. The sound of my voice was terrifying and loud, but I didn’t care if Guardians or the gods themselves heard me. I was hungry.

  I stomped back to the mudroom and spied a camouflage jacket on the hook, along with a fancy carbon bow. I instinctively reached for the bow, checking to see that the quiver was full in case the mutes returned, when it occurred to me. If whoever lived here was a hunter, that might mean a deep-freeze filled to bursting with raw bloody meat.

  There was no basement, and since I’d already ransacked the whole of the first floor, any freezer would have to be in the shed. I walked in, only to bellow in the empty space. Nothing, the shed held nothing. It was emptier than the useless fridge.

  My hunger was now rapidly turning to fury. I left the shed and grabbed the bow from where I’d left it; I was going to have to shoot a squirrel or a rabbit or maybe even a horse to get the meat I so desperately needed. As I slipped the quiver onto my back, I saw the shed reflected in the window, only I didn’t recognize it at first. The reflected image seemed so much larger…

  I turned back to the shed and yes, it was bigger. A quick walk around the perimeter revealed no additional entrances or windows, which meant one thing: a hidden room.

  Every resident of the New Republic, from honest and law abiding to those of us frequenting the black market, had a hidden room. They’d become the norm, if anything about our life could be considered normal. The law abiding among us used the secret chambers to hide our valuables, items that were worthless to sell but priceless to the owner; anything of value had been pawned a long, long time ago. My mother kept a yellowed photograph of her grandparents in our hidden room, along with a bracelet strung with wooden beads. She also kept a stash of food for those days when rations were scarce.

  I re-entered the shed and went to the back wall, carefully running my fingers across it as I looked for the telltale signs of a false panel. My hands shook with hunger, and only through great force of will did I keep from screaming. Or drooling on myself. Whoever lived here were hunters, and anything you caught needed to be registered at the official butcher where your kill was cleaned and portioned out. If you were lucky, you’d get to keep a quarter of the meat. A hunter could use a hidden room for unsanctioned weapons, extra gear…or to stash a big kill.

  Meat…meat…meat… There had to be meat here. There had to be. If I got into this room and there was nothing but a few dusty boots, I didn’t know what I would do. Freak out. Destroy the shed. The whole house. The whole city. Meat…

  Finally, I felt the latch click and I shoved my way into the back room. It was pitch black, and it took agonizingly long for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. I felt around for a light switch, a candle, anything. I found a half-dead flashlight and turned the beam against the back walls. No freezer here, no cooler there. Then something poked me in the back. I whipped around, and the yellow beam caught a cloven hoof. Hardly believing my eyes I turned the beam upward, illuminating a twelve-point buck.

  A deer. These hunters were hiding a deer.

  It was fresh, maybe only hung up a day or two before. Not that it mattered. I threw myself onto the deer, using brute force to pull it to the ground. It was already gutted and I plunged into it, not caring that it was raw and wild and possibly diseased. It was meat. It was delicious.

  I soon learned that even my ravenous appetite had an end, after I ate myself into a food coma. I lay next to the mangled remains of my dinner, drowsing in and out of sleep while I rubbed my bloated belly. This was the best day of my life. The hunger had been so strong, overriding the rest of me, and now that it was gone, I felt peaceful. Like a glass-topped lake. Like a dust mote on the wind. Like…

  Footsteps! Someone was coming to take my deer! I can’t let them have it! I’ll kill them! No one, no one, was taking my deer.

  I dragged my deer to the far corner and covered it with a tarp, then I crept out of the secret room. The bow and quiver lay where I’d dropped them during my search, and the arrows were scattered across the concrete floor. I scooped them up as best I could, but my fingers felt rubbery. I stopped to examine them, wondering if I’d hurt myself while I was tearing into the deer, when I heard it again.

  It was unmistakable: the slow, dragging, scratching gait of a mute. I skulked along the inside of the shed, listening to it as it clattered around the front porch. Then I heard the door; it had gone inside the house. A moment later, I followed.

  Logically, I should have just moved on. This wasn’t my house, let the mute destroy it. But there was my deer, my succulent, delicious deer, and I was not giving up a f
ind like that. No, I was getting rid of this mute.

  It wasn’t hard to find, clattering away in the kitchen. I’d already eaten all the food, which must have angered it. It was throwing the empty containers around, ripping shelves from the wall in its search. Then I noticed its jacket; it was brown leather, government-issue, just like Jesse’s. It better not be Jesse’s. That’s it, I’m taking this thing out.

  Slowly, I raised the bow and drew back the string, aiming for the base of its skull, but my rubber fingers slipped when I released the arrow. It hit next to the mute’s head, and the thing turned to face me. I leapt out of the room and hid behind the loveseat while I fumbled for another arrow. The mute was yelling garbled, nonsense words, my hands were shaking violently, and then I dropped the quiver. No time to pick them up, so I raised the bow like a bat and waited by the door. As soon as I saw its arm, I swung.

  “Mina!”

  The mute knew my name? How did it know my name? I stared at the greenish hand, then the leather-clad arm, up to Jesse’s face. He looked horrible, a sickly greyish-green, hollows under his eyes and cheekbones, and there was a nasty gash covered by a flap of loose flesh near his temple.

  No. Jesse was a mute. A mindless, unfeeling mute. Mute’s don’t love, don’t talk, don’t…well, they don’t anything except destroy. And now my Jesse was destroyed. He said he was fine, that he was so glad he found me… Wait, he’s speaking!

  “How can you talk?” I asked hesitantly. “I mean, you shouldn’t be able to.”

  “I know,” he said. “The government must have done something to the mutes that attacked us. Except when I’m hungry, I feel pretty much the same.” He shook his head and ran a greyish hand through his matted hair. “When I get hungry, the whole world falls away. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, where I am…I just need to eat. I can’t hardly think when I’m hungry.”