Entropy

by Addison Moore

  “Thank you.” I cinch my hands around his hips. “And I’m sorry for everything that’s happened tonight.” My lips press together to keep from trembling.

  “No.” His eyes close a moment. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

  “I’m afraid I hurt you.”

  “Not true.” He touches his forehead to mine. “I swear it, I want you to be happy, and if Wes makes you happy then I want that for you, too.”

  Our eyes lock, neither of one of us breathes.

  A guttural growl emits from deep within the woods. We look over into the infinite expanse of evergreens covered in a sheet of darkness, the monsters that live within them waiting to devour us.

  “We need to go.” He grips me by the elbow and starts pulling me onto the brick pathway.

  “Wait.” I pull him back a moment. “You make me happy, Coop.” Every molecule in my body sings when I say it. The sky lights up a moment as if to testify to the fact.

  A smile edges on his lips. Coop leans in and touches his finger to my nose, then down to my lips.

  “I’m glad.” He offers another quick embrace and buries a kiss over the back of my head. “Let’s go.” He pulls me along with his arm wrapped low on my hips as we speed toward the student parking lot.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Wes is killing the Spectators tonight.” He unlocks his truck.

  Shit. “What are we going to do?”

  Coop pulls his backpack from off the driver’s side before riffling through it. He pulls out a short, stalky gun I remember from the time I inadvertently shot Jones—a bastardized Ruger. He pulls another out of his backpack because, apparently, they’re multiplying.

  “So what’s the plan?” I pant while loading the Ruger.

  “You kill Wes, and I’ll stop the Spectators.” He snaps the bastardized magazine into place, and I catch him by the wrist.

  “I’m not killing Wes.”

  “Then I will.”

  Cooper

  Dickenson Hall vibrates to some auto-tuned disaster as Laken and I dive deeper into the woods. The quiet of the forest displaces the sound of bad music, and soon the only thing left to hear is the crush of pine needles beneath our feet.

  Her fingers tighten over mine as I lead us deeper into the back of the woods about a half mile down to the tangle of bushes where I know for a fact Flynn is holding court with his cadaverous harem.

  Laken squeezes my hand. “We can’t kill Wes.” The words thread between us lower than a whisper, almost half-hearted.

  “I know.”

  “What exactly is Wes planning, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. Edinger said it was going down tonight. We need to find Flynn.” I pluck a small whistle from my pocket and give three shrill cries into the woods. “Let’s give him a minute to get his pants up.”

  “Some things never change.” Laken shivers while trying to warm herself with her hands.

  “Here.” I start to take off my jacket.

  “No.” She helps pull it back over my shoulders and smooths her fingers across my chest. “I’ll be fine. Besides, if we need to run…”

  Crap. Here I am putting her directly in harm’s way.

  “Let me take you back. You can take my keys and drive to my house—hangout with Marky and my dad.”

  “There’s no way I’m leaving you.”

  The woods light up with a putrid stench, as a trio of shadows stagger over.

  “Flynn?”

  He lets out three quick grunts—a signal system we managed to work out the last time we met. They step into our midst, and the dim light settles over their disheveled hair, their features look as if they’ve met up with a cheese grater. Flynn comes in close and holds out his arm.

  “Dude, you look and smell like shit,” I say, clasping my hand over his.

  Likewise. But tell Laken she looks fucking hot, and as soon as I get my body back in shape, she can look forward to a little mattress rodeo coming her way. A bug crawls from the side of his lips.

  “Flynn says, hi.” I nod over to Laken, and she touches her hand to mine in an effort to tune into the perverted conversation. “Look”—I lean into Flynn and his mouthful of maggots—“it’s zero hour, dude. The Counts are coming. I’m taking you and your friends to the Transfer. Ezrina might have enough juice to bring a couple of you back, but we have to leave now.”

  Flynn grunts something out to the bedraggled ladies by his side. I’m pretty sure the one to his left is Hattie, at least I’m hoping it is. Those Tobias sisters owe us a two-way trip into the Celestra Tunnels for all we’ve done for them.

  The one to his right howls as if she’s having her teeth pulled, that is, if she has any left.

  Flynn snatches onto her arm and roars something in her face, and she roars right back.

  “Crap,” Laken whispers. “Tell him to put his balls away. This isn’t the time to pick a fight.”

  “I don’t think he’s picking a fight.” I watch as she tries to make a run for it, and he pulls her in. A horrible scream rips from her throat as she sucker punches Flynn with her free hand and takes off like a bullet back from where they came.

  “What was that about?”

  Flynn holds out his arm, and both Laken and I latch on.

  She’s pissed, dude. She knows this shit is about to get real, and she wanted to let the others in on it. Not a single Spectator wants to die. Out here there are no factions, all that Celestra verses Countenance bullshit no longer flies. It’s just one big brotherhood. It’s beautiful man. The world needs us. The factions need us. You can’t let them kill us, Coop. Hell, we won’t let them kill us.

  “What does that mean?” My jaw tightens because I think I know.

  A wild howl sets the night on fire before Flynn can answer.

  It’s already happening.

  The ground trembles, a growling echo drums through the woods as the clatter gets closer and closer like a terrible earthquake.

  “What’s happening?” Laken shouts it over to Flynn.

  This is the war the Spectators have been waiting for.

  “Where are they headed?” I pant as the thunder of a thousand pissed off Spectators draw ever so close.

  Ephemeral.

  Laken and I race to Dickenson Hall. I gave strict orders for Flynn to stay the hell away from danger and head to the boulders with Hattie if he ever intended to join the land of the living again.

  “What are we going to tell them?” Laken’s fingers dig into my arm as we head toward the bustling building. “I don’t think the truth is going to work.”

  “A good number of people know what a Spectator is. Maybe the sheer panic to get the hell out of here will inspire the rest of them to take cover.”

  Grayson and Kresley are in the courtyard with their legs kicked out, their hands on their hips like a couple of hookers.

  “You guys have to leave,” Laken blurts out. “The Spectators are coming!”

  Kresley knocks her head back and laughs. “You wish. If this is your idea of some sick prank, I suggest you think again. I’m pretty tight with Ms. Paxton, and from what I hear, you’re just one more stupid stunt away from a permanent expulsion.”

  “Oh, please”—Grayson holds back a grin—“by all means create a hysteria.” She winks over at me. “With Laken gone, we can focus on far more important things, like each other.”

  “Let’s go.” I pull Laken into the facility, and the riot of noise clutters up my ears. I give her fingers a squeeze. We can’t get separated.

  Laken shakes her head.

  “Coop, I can’t hear you anymore.”

  Shit.

  “I’m not leaving your side, Laken!” The music cuts out just as I shout the words, and the entire room turns to look at us. Then I go for it. “I love you, Laken.” I say it quieter, for her ears only, but selfishly a part of me wanted to do it right here in front of the entire student population.

  The music kicks up again, obnoxiously loud as if the room were bei
ng detonated by way of exceptionally bad music.

  Laken leans in and whispers directly into my ear, “I love you, too, Coop.” She dots a kiss just shy of my temple.

  Her gaze freezes over mine as our lips edge into a shy, simultaneous smile.

  The floor shakes beneath us, and an iced chill travels down my spine. We bolt over to the where the DJ sits, smoking his electric cigarette, and I shout over at him to cut the noise.

  He holds up his hands. “Dude, you better back the hell off. If you have a song request, just write it on that paper.” He points to the table, and I turn the whole thing over without hesitating, but the music keeps firing from the speakers like a machine gun blast.

  I grip him by the collar and pull him in. “Stop the fucking music!” I scream it in his face, and he doesn’t flinch.

  The music magically cuts out. I look over to find Laken holding a cable in her hand that she pulled from a laptop.

  “That works.” I jump up on the nearest table and blow the shit out of that whistle from my pocket. I spot Ms. Paxton and Edinger flying in this direction as if they’re about to tackle me. A group of guys from the team spontaneously begin to chant my name. “I need everybody to leave the building. There are Spectators, zombies, on their way, and they’re going to try to kill you.”

  Some dude in the back barks out a laugh. “What are they going to do? Eat our brains?”

  “Yes!” Laken shouts. “That’s exactly what they want to do.”

  Half the room breaks out into cackles while the other half shifts around nervously.

  “Everyone, calm down!” Ms. Paxton tries to clap the room back to order. “This is a false alarm. Absolutely nothing is wrong.” She shoots me a look that could slice my balls off. “Mr. Flanders, I suggest you be careful getting down. Your sobriety is obviously an issue.”

  Edinger points to the floor, and, for the first time since I’ve met him, he looks genuinely pissed.

  The table shakes. I can hear their primal grunting. They’re getting closer.

  I pull out my Ruger and point it in the air as the room fills with gasps. “I’ve planted bombs all around the fucking vicinity, and in two minutes I’m going to level the shit out of this place.”

  Bodies rush toward the doors. The fire exits burst open as the room clears out in record time.

  I jump down, and Laken wraps an arm around me.

  “Nothing the threat of a little domestic terrorism couldn’t cure. Good job.” She presses a kiss onto my lips.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Not so fast.” Edinger steps in our path.

  “Jen and Fletch aren’t leaving.” Laken breaks away and heads over to them.

  “What? Speak fast.” I don’t take my eyes off Laken.

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to be a hero, Mr. Flanders. You’ve broken the rules by tampering with the Spectators. You had no authority to warn them in advance.”

  “Yeah, well, you can take your rules and fuck ’em. I’m sick of the Counts and the rules they keep trying to shove up my ass.” I pull him in by the shirt and get nose to nose with the wicked bastard. “I want the Spectators to live—every single one of them.” I push him away with a violent force and head toward Laken.

  “Flanders.” His voice echoes through my bones, solid and hot as a brand.

  I turn to find his eyes glowing a peculiar shade of crimson.

  “That offer I made?” He imprints the words he spoke that night into my mind. If you succeed in maneuvering Laken from Wesley, you win a supervising spirit for life. If Laken chooses Wesley, you’ll spend the rest of your days in the tunnels. “It ends at dawn.” He stalks off toward the exit and brazenly evaporates as he strides out into the night.

  My body solidifies. Marky and Dad flash through my mind. I hadn’t said goodbye.

  “Coop.” Laken swings around my waist. “Fletch went to find Wes. He’s going to die.”

  “He should be okay. I know for a fact he can handle himself out there.” I’m not entirely sure Fletch won’t do anything boneheaded, but I leave that out for now. “Where’s Jen?”

  “She went to get Blaine.”

  Her I worry about.

  We head out to the front as the ground jumps beneath us. A fire escape leading to the roof catches my attention.

  Arms and legs, an entire army of struggling Spectators make their way out of the woods, thick as bees. They’re coming at us from every direction at once, plodding on with their ever-quickening speed.

  I help Laken jump up on the ladder as the swarm grunts its way toward us. They straggle forward at a clip I’ve never seen before. It’s as if they’ve saved all of their fucked-up energy for this very moment.

  A pair of bony hands clasps onto my neck. One of them hugs my legs like a vise as another claws my jacket right off my body.

  “Cooper!” Laken screams as she reaches down to me with her hand.

  I clasp on, and she gives a weak attempt at pulling me up.

  “Use your strength!” I shout trying to break free from the Spectator camping out on my thighs.

  Laken lets out a roar. The veins on her neck protrude like cords as she reels me up to the ladder. I latch on and kick the shit out of the Spectator hanging on for dear life until it falls on top of the others and drifts up and down in a bobbing sea of zombies.

  Laken and I make it up to the roof, and I turn back to find three of them already climbing their way up. I reach down and take my own advice, using all of the angelic strength I have to pluck the ladder from the side of the building. We watch as it sails to the ground, keeping us safe for now.

  We run across the connecting rooftops until we hit the Science Building at the far end of campus. I pull Laken in close as we look out at the sea of Spectators tearing up Ephemeral, reducing it to ruble. Asterion floats over their bodies while being passed around on the giant mosh pit the campus has become as if to annunciate the fact our world as we know it is over.

  “What now?” Laken clasps onto me with both hands.

  “We need to find Wes.”

  “What for?”

  “We need to find out exactly what he plans on doing.”

  Wesley

  The Spectators have spread out over campus like a plague, like head lice, multiplying their misery over the landscape exponentially.

  Fletch catches up to me just as I duck into the Ephemeral library.

  “What the hell, dude?” He outruns a small herd of fucked-up once upon a humans and heads inside with me.

  “Are the girls safe?”

  “Carter took off with Jen and your brother. Laken’s with Coop.”

  “Good.” And for the first time, I want her to be. If anyone can keep her safe in this madhouse, it’s Cooper.

  I speed down the dark hall, with Fletch bobbing around like an unwanted child. I don’t particularly want him to see what I’m up to, not that I don’t think I can’t trust Fletch. “You’re my best friend, you know that, man.” I slap him over the back as we descend the final flight of stairs.

  “You pick now to do some male bonding? Dude, we have a war on our hands out there. You think we should call Jones?”

  “Who do you think’s behind this shit?” I unlock the chamber and hold the door open for Fletch.

  “Jones?” He looks as if a truck is about to hit him in the face, and it sort of is.

  “There’s more.” I don’t bother with the lights, just turn on my phone and flash it at the table. A duffle bag waits for me just like Edinger said. I unzip it and give a quick inspection. Dozens of grenade-like canisters stare back at me, and I’m quick to seal it up again. I duck down to the bookshelf facing the eastern wall and pluck all the books out of the way.

  “What’s back there?” Fletch asks while unzipping the bag.

  “Don’t touch that.” I pull out an AR 15 with a hundred round magazine—ready and willing to blow the heads off dozens of half dead Celestra in a five-second span. And I’ll be more than glad to do it.

&nbs
p; “That’s a fucking assault weapon. Where the hell’d you get that?”

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” I toss the duffle bag at him. “Just follow me.”

  We head back up the stairs only to find the library teeming with them. The furniture is toppled, the gorgeous windows smashed to shards with bodies dangling from them, crying out their broken moans. Books are splayed out with their pages floating through the air like oversized confetti, and a surge of sadness comes over me. For so long this place was like home. It was a thing of beauty, a place of refinement, and here Celestra and their crapfest have ruined it all.

  “Dude”—Fletch pants backing down the stairs—“I’m not going in there.”

  I reach into the bag and pull out a small, metal canister. I pull the pin and toss it into the crowd as a plume of smoke gushes from it like a mushroom cloud.

  Fletch and I bolt back down to the round room.

  “There’s no fucking exit!” Fletch kicks a chair in a panic.

  I bust out the window above the bookshelf with the butt of my rifle, and we climb up the shelves like a ladder, out the window, out of hell.

  The air outside is thick with the scent of death as an army of Spectators swarm the buildings. The sound of windows breaking, of glass crashing to the ground, fills the night. Screams go off like a demonic choir from every direction, and I can’t help but think of what might be happening out there.

  Fletch and I toss as many of those damn gas grenades we can as we make our way toward the dorms. A small herd of Spectators ambush us from the front of the English Building, and I don’t hesitate blowing their heads off. Nothing but brains spraying out over the sky, and I don’t feel an ounce of remorse as I watch their dried out grey matter litter the landscape.

  We make our way over to Austen House, the shrill screams light up the vicinity as if all of Ephemeral were on some wild roller coaster.

  Fletch bolts inside, and I follow him. The furniture is upturned. The damn place is crawling with groaning, screaming corpses that belong in a cemetery more than they ever do here.