Death Series 08 - Death Blinks

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  The right directive (or the wrong one) would render them uncontrollable by me or Pax.

  But I did raise Mitchell. So I do have AftD here.

  And Brad didn't seem to understand that the bot world criminal element might be mine and mine alone. That has potential. Not that I want to hang around and figure it out.

  As we move down the hall, a pale-blue illumination seeps out beneath a door. The large pane of glass is the only untextured one in the hall.

  Bots line the room like sardines. They appear to be sleeping. But my palms instantly dampen at the sight of the soulless bots in repose.

  Tiff and I slow, gazing at the sleeping bots. “Creepers,” she says in a soft voice.

  Sophie plucks at Tiff's once-white T-shirt. “Come on, let's get to the guys and save the day.”

  Tiff tosses a last uneasy glance over her shoulder and walks quickly to where Mom and Ron are at the end of the hall.

  I hesitate a moment longer. As I watch, bot eyeballs roll underneath opaque silver lids. Dreaming.

  The bots dream.

  The one directly in front of the door flutters its eyelids as though aware of being watched.

  I gasp, turning on my heel, and quietly jog after the others.

  What if the bot had woken up and seen an AftD-blinking-Manipulator-other-worlder?

  I know the answer to that.

  Game over.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Paxton

  We're all doing the incognito chuckle over Gramps getting his love on in the bot world with Brad's twentieth cousin, or whatever the blue hell Kim is, when Dad opens the door and the cowboy Null walks inside.

  Well hell…

  His powers wash over me immediately. Actually, it's like being smacked in the face with an ice cold bucket of water.

  Dad moves forward, and I expect him to karate chop the cowboy’s ass or something—then Tiff moves around him.

  “Hold up, Hart!” she barks.

  Dad sort of tumbles in motion, slapping his hand on the doorjamb instead of the guy's Adam's apple.

  “I'm Ron,” Null Dude says.

  Introductions are so overrated. I want to blink us all out of here when the girls conveniently pour through the door behind Null and Tiff.

  No time like the present.

  “We don't have a lot of time,” Ron says, like it’s an original thought.

  “Yeah. I sort of stomped on millimeter boy's penis.” Aunt Tiff snaps a bubble, and the guys grimace.

  Mom goes right to Dad, and he scoops her against him. “Jade.” He steps back, scanning her form thoroughly. “You're a sight for sore eyes.”

  She nods, tears streaming. Mom's always been pretty emotional.

  “What's going on here, Tiff?” John asks, cautiously striding forward, taking inventory of her injuries while giving Ron a once-over.

  “I want to go with,” the Null says, holding up his palms like he’s waving a white flag of surrender.

  Gramps snorts.

  This is our life.

  Kim says, “You are in the Thompsonsʼ pocket, Ron.” Her eyes accuse.

  I keep my fat mouth shut. Lots of info needing to be conveyed without me blabbing my two cents worth.

  He nods, and I breathe easier when I catch sight of Dee coming through the door, followed by Sophie.

  “Great, let's get the hell out of here.”

  Dad looks at me, his expression tight.

  “Dad, you look constipated.”

  Tiff barks a laugh.

  “Pax, I don't think we can just blink our way out of this.”

  Why not?

  Gramps says, “I see you're not getting the bigger picture, Pax. The goon squad in our world will have one helluva a reception waiting for us.” He cups his hand around the tip of a cigarette and lights it.

  Gramps manufactured cigarettes here?

  He squints at me through the smoke. “Unless you can coordinate latitude and longitude?”

  I shake my head. No way. I don’t have even close to that kind of finesse with blinking. Hell, I was lucky to get us back here. I look around our dismal cells and healing injuries.

  Maybe not lucky…

  Gramps watches my facial expressions. Seemingly satisfied he got the answer he expected, he turns to the Null. “You're the bright one who stormed in here rabbiting on about catching our tailwind.” Gramps gives Ron a pointed look then tips his head back and shoots out a stream of smoke.

  “Let's get out of the prison,” Mitch says, his hands already on my sister's shoulders.

  Makes me pissed. But I console myself with the fact he would literally give his left nut to protect her. So fuck it. For now.

  “I agree with him,” Kim says. “We're trapped in here if Brad can get help. The cyborgs are hibernating, but he can override that directive within this building.”

  I look to Dee, and she shivers. What cyborgs? Are there bots inside where we're being held right now? Here?

  Not good.

  “Smooth plan, my man.” Jonesy heads for the door.

  “Restrain your enthusiasm, Jonesy,” Clyde says thoughtfully.

  “What happened to Clyde?” Tiff asks.

  His skin is falling off his face like peeling wallpaper. It's lost all color and has the tonal quality of fresh ash.

  “Bobbi and Caleb are the only two who can arrest my degradation.”

  We all look at Clyde.

  Looks like fresh grave to me.

  “Sorry, Clyde,” Dad says, his face a tight mask of guilt, helpless to put Clyde back in style because he has no AftD in this world.

  Clyde spreads his hands wide, and the tip of one finger glances off the bar of his cell.

  A small nub of flesh drops off the tip, rolling like a small gray pea that's been sheared off, somersaulting in tiny stuttering revolutions toward a center drain in the floor.

  We mark the progress of the amputated fingertip as it falls through the pockmarked metal, into the running sewer below.

  “That's truly awful,” Sophie remarks.

  Sophie’s concern is over purses, shoes, and fashion but she might finally be getting the important points.

  Speaking of. My eyes travel over the fugly leggings on everyone.

  I guess it beats bleeding out. I take a second gander. Barely.

  “That's unfortunate,” Clyde comments, still staring after his lost fingertip. A tooth drops out of his mouth, following the path of the fingertip.

  “Okay,” Mom says, heading to the door and dragging Dad behind her. “Let's get out of here.”

  “What about?” I jerk a thumb toward Ron.

  I hate a guy when I can't see his eyes. And this guy’s ten-gallon hat shadows his stare.

  “I don't think he can be trusted,” Kim says, giving him the woman stink eye. (Yeah, that's different than the male version.)

  “That's settled then,” Gramps says.

  Ron narrows his eyes on the two. “I get it. You want to bone Kim, so now it's her word against mine. The Thompson relative.” He nods vigorously. “I see how it is. Or did you forget that little familial factoid when you were being led around by the little head?”

  Oh shit.

  Gramps jabs him in the face with a nicely executed uppercut. No warning. No words. Just pow.

  Nice.

  “Argh!” Ron staggers back, spraying blood from between his fingers as he covers his nose.

  Sophie gives a little cry, covering her mouth. “Mac!”

  Gramps says indifferently, “Might need a little lesson in manners.”

  “We can't go back yet,” Tiff says, tossing a disinterested glance at the bleeding Null before turning her attention to me.

  Huh. I glance around our prison. “Let's vacate, then talk.” Kim had a point about there being one exit and the possibility of Brad showing up with reinforcements. Not a great defensive position. More like a juggernaut.

  Jonesy points at me, “Good call, Hart spawn.”

  Mom's face goes sour.


  Jonesy sees her expression and guffaws.

  We traipse up the stairs. Aside from our footsteps, Ron's breathing through his mouth like a tortured duck is the only noise.

  Kim is second behind Jonesy as we exit the top of the landing.

  Nighttime is here, and I instinctively blink, my second eyelid descending seamlessly. I look to Dee, and she's using hers too.

  I see fifty-year-old grime embedded in the sick-looking diamond floor.

  I see blood that's been bleached.

  Dee and I exchange a glance. Dust motes float between us like a distracting opaque moving blanket.

  This building wasn't always used for what it is right now.

  All the women wearing shitty pants physically hurts my enhanced sight. That reminds me. “You guys get the menstrual thing figured out?”

  Gramps frowns, looking like he a swallowed a turtle. Whole. “In my day—”

  “Mine, as well,” Clyde interjects smoothly.

  “Yeah,” Tiff glances at Clyde with barely contained impatience. “We've got bigger fish to fry than whether or not we're talking about periods.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Like standing out in the middle of this hall, waiting to be discovered,” Sophie adds.

  Good point.

  Mitch stays close to Dee but says, “It's safer here than out there. There isn't anybody working at night, it's after hours, and the bots have gone night-night.”

  Night-night? Clown. “Are ya making a funny, Mitch?”

  Dee wrinkles her nose, moving closer to steroid zombie. “Pax, cut it out.”

  “Kids.” We get a Primo Mom glare.

  “Yeah, kids. Not helpful.” Tiff turns her attention to me again. “So like I'm saying, we can conceive here in this world. But not in ours.”

  I swear Uncle John stops breathing, and Dee appears to be catching her breaths one at a time.

  The implication nails me between the eyes. “You mean, you want to stay here long enough to… disgusting. I can't say the words.”

  We're discussing my Mom—Sister.

  Never fear, Gramps is all about The Awkward. “I appreciate that you want children, Tiff—”

  “You have no idea how much, Mac,” John says in a quiet voice.

  I mentally cringe. I guess we're doing this.

  Gramps scrubs his face then pats down his pocket for a cigarette.

  “What's going on?” Kim asks the women.

  “Women aren't fertile in our world,” John replies.

  “Oh, you appear to believe that's a terrible fate, but what real need do you have for children anyway?” she asks matter-of-factly, searching the women’s faces, which begin to darken seconds after her question.

  Gramps and Jonesy beam.

  Sophie punches Jonesy in the arm, and he yowls like a cat slipping on a wet roof.

  “Shh,” Ron the Null says. But it comes out like shlurp or something because his nose has been reduced to a tenderized lump of hamburger on his face. “The bots.”

  Larh bawts is what I hear.

  “I already broke his nose once,” Tiff says offhandedly.

  God…

  John wastes a glance at Ron, a smile hovering over his lips. “That's my hellion.”

  Oh boy.

  “Let's stay at the point,” Dad says, staring directly at Tiff. “You want us to remain here, until you can have sex with John, in the hopes that you can get pregnant?” His dark eyebrows arch.

  Tiff tilts her head for a second, appearing to ponder Dad's words. “You got it, Hart. A little wham-bam, thank you, ma'am, oughtta do the trick.”

  Uncle John turns beat red, like an overripe tomato. It's not a good look, but it earns a smile from Mom, who dips her chin to hide her expression.

  “I don't want to stay here,” Dee says in a thin voice.

  Gramps pegs his hands on his hips. “Don't know if Tiff's plan is in the best interests of the group—hanging around in this surly world, hoping for compassion.” Gramps gives a sharp grunt then lights up again. The ember at the tip of his cigarette winks like a bloated firefly then dies back.

  “There isn't any,” Kim says with such a straight face, it's funny.

  But nobody laughs.

  Gramps flips a palm toward Kim, sending a spiral of smoke spinning and floating toward the high ceiling inside the corridor. “What she said.”

  “I want a baby,” Sophie says like a bomb detonation. Her words ring in the strange acoustics of the hallway. Though she spoke quietly, it seems to echo down the hall and come back to us like a stealth attack.

  “Whew,” Jonesy says, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow, “I thought you were going to say something really important like: I want to go back to our world where it's safe.” Jonesy glares at Sophie.

  She glares right back.

  “I cannot believe that procreation is being discussed instead of our hasty retreat to the evils we know,” Clyde says, straightening.

  Another tooth falls. The sound of it clinking back down the stairs is swallowed by the sudden silence.

  We gotta get out of here.

  “Maybe you guys will still get pregnant after you get back?” Dee says uncertainly. “Like a delayed effect?”

  Doubt it, my mind sings, but I don't say. I'm pretty sure the fertility effect is bot-world-only. Suck-ass irony.

  Mom puts her hands on her hips. “I'm almost forty-two years old. I think I'd cry for a month if I found out I was pregnant now.” Her eyes move first to Sophie then Tiff. “Why would you choose to be pregnant at our age?” Then Mom looks at Dee. “And I'd cry enough for two if you were pregnant.”

  Dad looks like he wants to toss chunks. Thinking about Dee boinking some dude is so not on the mental contemplation list. Disgusting.

  Dad and I simultaneously glare at Mitch.

  He glares right back, emitting a low-level hiss.

  Clyde cocks a brow, the ghost of a smile shadowing his decaying lips.

  Mitch's hands fist, and I notice for the first time that he's got a little black around the mouth. Dee's usually better than that.

  “I'm not going to throw Deegan down and ravish her, Hart assholes.” His eyes are straight razors in his face.

  Gramps smacks his palm to his forehead, and ten centimeters of ash float to the floor. He grinds his shoe over the top in a move so automatic, I know he's done it a thousand times.

  Kim's face puckers at the nasty cig ash.

  “When we go back, there will be sanction police.” I set my gaze on Dee. “I'm sorry, sis, but you zapped body parts.” I shrug. That's just the kind of shit that gets noticed.

  Dee's lower lip trembles, and shame floods her face.

  I move on, though if we were alone, I would hug her. Her abilities are more fucked up, unpredictable, and wild than mine are. She got the shit end of the paranormal stick for sure. “If we stay here, I don't know if we can survive long enough for…” I wave my hand around, avoiding words like:

  Sex. Fucking. Lovemaking.

  Impregnation.

  I shudder.

  “Coitus?” Clyde offers, the promise of a shit-eating grin riding his face. Though in an effort to keep teeth in his mouth, he puts a lid on it.

  Isn't he hilarious? Not.

  Dad holds up a hand. “Thank you, Clyde.”

  Clyde inclines his head. “You are most welcome, Master.”

  Dad glares.

  Clyde’s grin bursts over his decayed face. And I notice holes where teeth should be.

  At least someone has a sense of humor.

  “There are no babies. If all of us can get pregnant, we should.” Tiff looks at Mom, Dee, and Sophie.

  Uh-huh. Hells no, sure as shit not Dee.

  “I'm not an infant, Pax,” Dee says, intuiting my internal rant perfectly.

  Saying I'm conflicted doesn't cover it. My eyes move to Mitch. “I'm going to kill him if he lays a finger on you.”

  Mitch steps forward, trying to loom. (He's not half-bad at that, either.) “Listen, you assw
ipe—”

  Gramps smirks.

  “Dee is underage,” Mitch states as though reciting a law.

  He probably is—2010 law. But not a current one.

  Jonesy swivels his hips, doing a parody of chopper dick. Shit.

  “Do your civic duty—” He chuckles. “For the good of the world. Plus!” he yells, hips still rotating obscenely. “They won't touch a woman who's pregnant in our world. Too rare.”

  For once, Jonesy said something that is really smart.

  The silence tells me he hit the nail on the head. If the women were to get pregnant, then our world could do nothing. Even if Dee could zap everybody's parts.

  I get an image of the penises of all the Graysheets flying off into the ether, and an insane chuckle leaps out before I can stop it.

  Gramps raises and eyebrow. “You gonna be okay?”

  Not sure. I laugh again, and it sounds kind of like an aborted hiccup.

  A new thought occurs, sobering me for the moment. The sanction police couldn't do anything to the men who were the fathers. There’s a federal mandate. All life shall be preserved. That fed law went into effect after Zondorae's little potion fucked up procreation for the duration.

  That takes Dee, Mom, Dad, Tiff, John, Sophie—I look to Jonesy, who is whistling tunelessly—and maybe Jonesy off the Kill List.

  Lastly, I gaze at Mitch, and he scowls back at me.

  He better not touch my sister. I don't care if we're desperate for population back home.

  “Hey,” the Null calls from behind me, “can you heal me, Kim?”

  Ron the Null.

  Hell no.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Deegan

  “There's a lot more to the equation than some other-world nookie.” Gramps cups his chin, and Kim, their healer-slash-jailor, smiles. This is so many shades of weird, I don't think we're on the same planet.

  Oh yeah, we're not. I groan.

  Dad slaps his forehead.

  “For instance,” Gramps goes on, seemingly oblivious to my parentsʼ lack of enthusiasm with his need to explain, “we need grub, drink, and rest. Not in that order. I feel like I've been squirted through spin cycle.”

  Blank looks meet his words. Then it comes to me—those old-fashioned washing machine things. Dad told me they were still handwashing when he was my age. Seems beyond dumb now.