He slapped Stu on the back and left, laughing.
“Was he drunk?” Mike asked.
“He was something,” Stu said, gazing around. If the man wasn’t drinking, he was one of the few. Stands were being set up along the four-mile “inner circle” as the parade route was called. Some sold a drink called a Hot Toddy, which was apple-whisky, hot water, honey, herbs and spices. Another specialized in Irish coffee. Still another made hot chocolate with peppermint and vodka.
And there was every sort of pumpkin flavored drink imaginable, including something brutishly unpleasant called pumpkin wine.
Samples were given freely, and it wasn’t long before Mike and Jenn were giggling drunk as much from the alcohol as the freedom and the sense of belonging that they felt. She had forgotten the crows after her third drink and soon after, Mike was too numb to feel the ache in his ribs. Stu tried to retain some sort of personal order since they had promised to give their story to the governor.
Still, he was pleasantly buzzed when the floats began to pass by. Although some were hauled along by donkeys, horses or in one case cows, most were pulled by teams of people who would often stop for refreshments along the way. When someone dropped out, another person gladly took their place.
It was closing on midmorning when the “real” floats began passing. These were the ones that were considered the front runners in the competition for best float. Some were staggering in their conception and brilliant in their color. The enormous scarecrow could be seen from half a mile away, while a fifteen-foot tall snowflake made from ten-thousand shards of mirror was like a beacon and people told each other that it could be seen from space.
Leading these front runners was the Fall Festival Queen. She rode on a white rose float that was hauled by a barrel-bellied grey mare. The actual rose was not overly large; little more than ten feet across. Where it lacked in size, it made up for in beauty. A thousand man-hours had been put in constructing it and other than the amazing gold trim on each petal, it was a perfect rendition of an actual rose.
In the center rode the Queen as voted on by children of the three schools on the island. She wore white and gold as well and would have been perfectly triumphant were she not perfectly sloshed. She was pasty grey when she appeared and by the time she came up to where Jenn stood waving, she couldn’t keep the contents of her stomach in any longer. Heroically, she preserved both her dress and the float by holding back a mouthful of vomit until she staggered to the ground, knelt at Jenn’s feet and vomited all over her in a great spray of orange, pumpkin flavored puke.
Chapter 43
“Then we can’t stop them,” Jillybean said, in a whisper, unable to look at the screen any longer. She had been pulled out of a perfect world for this? Just to watch her handiwork come undone, to see her people destroyed? No, she wouldn’t watch. She would find somewhere to sleep and when she was unconscious, she would sneak away and head back down into the cave she had built and let Eve have this world.
Not only did Eve want it more, she deserved it, and the world deserved her. It was an evil, hateful place and no one was better suited to rule such a place than the Queen of Hate.
“There’s nothing you can do?” Donna Polston asked.
Jillybean pointed without looking at the second screen. The picture wobbled and dipped as the drone fought the ocean breeze. It showed the Knights of the Cross preparing for battle. Most were readying weapons, but some were kneeling in prayer; they were going to make their final stand and it was going to be a sickening affair.
She shook her head. “They would need to listen to me as their queen and they won’t. They’d rather fight and die, which is their choice. So, no. There’s nothing I can do.”
“You could make more flares!” Troy demanded, grabbing the Queen’s arm and spinning her around. They were almost nose-to-nose, and he saw the change in her eyes as she became Eve. One moment he was looking into her sad, rather large blue eyes and the next they went dark, as an angry, vicious, sinfully joyful smile spread across her face. It was terrible to see such foul evil in one so young and pretty.
With Eve, her eyes were as truthful as she got. They were a window into her black soul that appalled people to such an extent that they couldn’t look away; not even if their lives were in danger. As Troy stared, Eve acted. A five-inch knife appeared in her hand from nowhere; she slid it up under his chin.
She could’ve carved out his Adam’s apple before he knew it. Instead, she only gave him a little nick, saying, “Never touch me, again. It’s death to touch me without permission. Now beg for forgiveness. Throw yourself on my mercy.”
Troy reacted with speed and precision. The flat of his left hand moved in a blur and knocked her knife hand away, while his right hand slammed forward. He could have punched her on the chin, the nose, or the throat; however, the code under which he lived would not permit him to hit a defenseless woman. Even though she had a knife, she was not a warrior and he was in no danger, especially since he was encased in armor from just below the cut under his chin down to his steel-tipped boots.
His hand slamming forward was open. It struck her high on the sternum and was more of a hard push than anything else.
It caught her by surprise and she fell back against a chair. Like a cat, she was up again, the knife held out toward him. “You’ll pay for that,” she hissed. “You’ll pay and all your people will pay, as well.”
“Get on your knees, Troy!” Donna cried. Her face had gone grey, except for the high red splotches on her cheeks. Troy was young, tall and strong, and in the peak of his physicality. He was a trained warrior who had slain zombies in single combat. He had Eve trapped in the corner of the trailer—Donna didn’t think he had a chance. “Get down and beg for forgiveness, please.”
Eve’s eyes glittered. “Yes, beg that I let you keep one of your eyes. The other is mine. Your hands are mine, too. No one touches the Queen, EVER!”
“Stop the attack and you can have whatever you want,” he replied, evenly.
She smiled that nasty smile of hers and took a step forward, the knife held low and away from her body. It was not a smart stance. It allowed for only a slashing attack which was all but useless because of his armor. As expected, she swung her arm in a short arc; missing him by a foot and a half. He knew she would reverse her strike and attack him backhanded. When she missed him again, he would step in while her momentum carried the knife away. Her arm would be extended and away from her. She’d be completely vulnerable.
Just as he foresaw, she swung the knife at him backhanded. He let it swish harmlessly by. His eyes were locked in on it and didn’t see that she was bringing her left hand around right after. Instinctively, he threw an arm to block it, thinking she had to have a second knife. It was not a knife in her hand, but white powder which his arm did very little to block.
The powder plumed into a pale cloud that went into his eyes and was sucked into his lungs. It felt like burning, diamond-sharp grains of sand. The pain in his eyes was too much to bear and he could only clamp them shut. His lungs constricted on their own and the most he could draw in were tiny sips of air. He tried to cough, but only ended up choking.
“Pathetic,” Eve drawled as she calmly turned away, picked up a water bottle and washed off her left hand. It was bright red.
Troy staggered at her, swinging a fist. He had heard the water splashing and assumed it was acid or venom, or something equally horrible. His fist hit the wall next to the TV screen with a loud crack! Eve laughed as she kicked the back of his leg. He dropped to his knees and as he hit the floor, Eve slammed his face into the wall. Blood poured from his nose; he barely felt it.
She had grabbed a short fistful of hair and hauled his head back, savagely. The knife was at his throat. “Any last words? Hmm? Sorry, I don’t speak gruntanese very well. Did you say slash my throat or stab my throat? What do you guys think? Slash or stab?”
The young twenty-two year Donna Polston of twelve years before would have begged for T
roy’s life. That bright-eyed young woman had been replaced by the pragmatist, whose only thought was that dead men tell no tales. She was skating on the thinnest of ice with Eve and Troy was doomed, one way or another.
Father Amacker spoke up just as Donna was going to say slash. “Jillybean! What would your sister say if she saw you acting like this?”
“I never had a sister,” Eve growled. “A pinky-swear doesn’t make a person your sister. I’m sure your stinking bible would back me up.”
Amacker wasn’t one to give in so easily. “What would your father say?” Eve drew in a sharp breath and coughed from the residual toxin in the air. Blood began to drip down Troy’s neck. “I think I know,” Amacker went on, “Your father would tell you to put down that knife this instant.”
“If I had a father, maybe,” Eve allowed. “But I didn’t have one. She did, and She let him die! The great Jillybean was the one who did that. She let him go out and She let him get bit. That’s how this all started. I wouldn’t be here today if She had any damned balls.”
“How old were you when that happened?”
Eve hesitated, her eyes blinking and staring somewhat randomly. “I was six and it was night and it was cold. Like tonight. I told him not to go. I begged. I told him I wasn’t hungry, but I was. I was hungry enough to eat my own hair and fingernails. And he went out because of that.”
The strength went out of her and the knife thumped on the floor. She turned away from Troy and looked at Father Amacker with liquid diamond tears in her huge blue eyes. “I didn’t mean it. I told him I was cutting my hair because of a game. That was a lie, Father. And he caught me.” Eve had fled from the pain and it was Jillybean who touched her wild wreath of hair as if she wasn’t quite sure it was still there. “I’ve never cut my hair since then.”
“That is a sad story, Jillybean,” Father Amacker said. “I’m not one for sad stories if I can help it, and we’re going to have an entire host of them very soon.” He raised a gnarled hand towards the monitors where the advancing army of zombies was nearing Highton. “How do we stop it? Do you have more flares or something like them?”
Her eyes slowly began to focus on the screens. “No. This is all wrong. Eve, Damn it!” She spun around and saw Troy struggling to breathe, Donna struggling to catch up with who was running Jillybean’s body, and Father Amacker staring sadly back at her. “There’s only way any of them will live and that is to obey me to the letter.”
She went to a drawer, grabbed a bottle of water and rushed to Troy’s side. “If you fight me in any way, that’ll be it. Now, lay down,” she ordered him. It spoke of his strength and courage that he obeyed. Quickly she washed away the residue of powder from his face; almost immediately his lungs opened up. She then shoved the bottle into his hands. “Rinse your hands and your eyes.”
Jillybean was up a second later, heading for the one door leading out of the trailer. “Get the priest out of here,” she commanded Donna, speaking over her shoulder as she jumped out. She had no time for stairs or anything else for that matter. The last of the flares were being shot over the town of Highton even then. The first of many thousands of zombies would be there in three minutes.
“Hitch them up, Will!” she yelled at the driver.
William Trafny knew better than to dawdle. Eve had twice threatened to feed his parts to the zombies that pulled the trailer. This was Jillybean; however and for her, he would hurry even if it killed him.
“You’re going to stay here this time,” she told him grabbing the long guide-stick. “I want you and Donna to guard the old priest with your lives until I get back. If I don’t make it, find a way back to Alcatraz on foot. Don’t go anywhere near those boats, understood?”
He understood perfectly. They all did. Jillybean had a hold of not just one tiger by the tail, it seemed she had four or five. Each of the different Corsair factions, as well as the Santas, were one mistake away from turning on her, and if she were to die, there’d be a civil war in a second.
They had the beasts hitched in thirty seconds and by then, Donna had managed to get Father Amacker out of the trailer, barely. He was just putting a questing foot down into the deep grass when Jillybean began poking the zombies into life. Inside, a dazed Troy Holt was knocked off his feet as the contraption jerked forward. He hurried to the door and looked out. They were already moving at a trot and the entire thing was bucking and bouncing.
He thought about getting out to run alongside Jillybean and would have if he wasn’t still light-headed and wheezing. It would have been embarrassing, or rather more embarrassing. Not only had she beaten him, she could’ve killed him without effort and he had to wonder how many other tricks she had up her sleeves; literally in this case.
They began going uphill and the pace slowed enough for him to chance getting out. When he jogged to the front, he was surprised to find she wasn’t even in sight. The zombies were simply blundering forward, heading toward the barbed-wire fence. He could hear her ahead of them, barking out orders.
She came rushing up, seconds later. “Back inside. I can’t leave without you.” He had no idea what she meant by that. It’s not like he was going to run away. He climbed back in and just in time it seemed. The trailer began to pick up speed as if the zombies were flat-out running as fast as they could.
Jillybean suddenly appeared in the doorway, hanging on for dear life, trying to scramble inside. He reached out a hand and she clawed it like a cat as she climbed up him.
“Who’s driving this thing?”
“No one. You better hold on.”
Hold on to what? seemed like the perfect question, but again the feeling of embarrassment stole over him. In all likelihood, they were speeding to their deaths and he wasn’t going to go out with even a hint of cowardice about him. He staggered to where the TV screens were and calmly sat in one of the soft, leather chairs. One TV showed Highton seconds from being enveloped by a great grey wave; a second showed an empty hill, and the third showed a runaway trailer, speeding straight down a very steep hill.
“Is that us?” He looked around and saw that he was alone; Jillybean had disappeared into the same small backroom she’d had the night before. It was just as well since the question hadn’t been well thought out. Of course, it was them, only where were the zombies that had been hauling it? And who was steering the trailer? As far as he could tell, Jillybean was just trusting gravity to get them to Highton.
That didn’t seem smart.
“And what in holy heck is that?” On the video feed, something was pouring from the back end of the trailer. “Lord bless us, that’s smoke!” It had started as swirls of grey, but was growing quickly into a billowing cloud. And now there were flames, bright yellow fingers that seemed to be reaching higher and higher.
As he stared in shock, Jillybean burst out of the backroom in a cloud of black fumes. She rushed to the monitors and let out a wild cackle. “This is going to be crazy! Grab that chair.” She pulled one of the chairs to the front of the trailer, sat down with her back to the wall and leaned the chair over herself. Troy sat down beside her. The trailer was bouncing now. He figured it was going to shake itself to pieces if it didn’t burn up first.
Jillybean gave him a guilty look. “Sorry about the toxin and your nose and, you know, your neck. I wasn’t myself. Sometimes I get…”
The trailer whammed over a log and she choked on whatever she was going to say next.
Her plan to ride the trailer to Highton took a detour at that point. The trailer began to curve away and as it did it took on a list that turned into a frightening lean. Seconds later, the entire thing pitched over and over and over. Up and down switched places so quickly that gravity couldn’t keep up. Paper, glass, and jagged chunks of monitors seemed to float around them.
A moment later, brilliant, searing light erupted just as the back of the trailer exploded, and their out of control tumble ended with a jarring crash. Heat washed over them. It was so intense that Jillybean could only cringe again
st it. She pulled her leather coat across her face. Troy didn’t have that luxury. He grabbed the chair he’d been hiding behind and held it up in front of his face.
“Come on!” he yelled.
Jillybean’s head was still spinning and her legs were uncertain. When she got up, her hips went one direction while her shoulders went another; she fell heavily against the side of the trailer. Troy took a fistful of her leather coat and dragged her out into the night.
“Look what you did,” he said, backing away from the trailer. The flames were gorging themselves on it and were forty feet high in seconds.
“A happy bit of luck, I agree. You’d better get down.”
He turned and saw what seemed like the hill sweeping toward them in an undulating mass, almost like a wave. “What is tha…” It was the zombie horde turning towards the fire-engulfed camper. “We got to get out of here!” Troy tried to pull the Queen to her feet; she resisted but only for a second, only long enough for him to put his strength into the move. Then she let herself be lifted while at the same time she stuck a foot behind his back ankle. He went falling back into the dead grass with her on top of him.
She clamped a hand over his mouth and whispered, “Be still and don’t say a word.” The zombies were on top of them seconds later. Great hulking monsters that looked like giants to the two hiding in the grass. Now that they were close, they moved slowly, moaning, limping, swaying as if caught in a trance. In a sense, they were. Their simple minds could not comprehend the fire which amazed and attracted them in equal parts.
It wouldn’t last. Jillybean knew that the fire which burned twice as bright burned half as long. She began creeping through the waist-high grass, moving far too slowly for Troy’s tastes. The trailer had tipped over only a hundred yards from the mound of bodies ringing Highton. It was far too close, especially as the ring of zombies gaping at the inferno began to build. Sheer numbers would force some into contact with the defending Knights.
Generation Z (Book 4): The Queen Unthroned Page 42