by Jasmine Walt
Evil fucking Enforcer bitch. My nostrils flare. I shut my eyes. I don’t want to look at her.
With my eyes still closed, I say, “Give me the key.”
Her movements feel like coals being tossed on top of me. With each one, I burn with more hatred. She undoes one of my wrists. The key clanks down on the table in front of me. I force my eyes open, snatch the key, and release my other wrist.
The herbal infusion has burned out of my blood
Remember where you stand, I recall his words and almost smile.
I’m sorry, Kiwi’s words jab back at me.
Without looking at, her I say, “Why did you do it?” I remember Juliet’s orders to Tripp.
Take this to Ms. Grunder.
The enclosed space goes still, apart from the occasional intake of breath. A cleared throat. After I wait for an answer longer than I should have to, I make myself look at Kiwi. Each muscle in my neck pinches.
Kiwi just swipes her bang behind her ear and stares ahead. From the driver seat, Tripp sighs.
“Tell him, Kiwi,” he says.
She doesn’t say anything. Coward. I almost laugh at her. Then, an alarm blares. My gaze darts forward. Scornful orange light fills my vision. Another boom. Another lurch, and tires screech to the side of the road right before we roll over.
From inside the car, Tripp moves fast. Flips a few switches. A rush of air and a clank clank clank sound drown out our grunts and curses. The hydraulics force the vehicle right side up. We sway, then sink into the ground. The clack of the 16-guage steel panels adds a second shield to the bombproof coating.
The next collision rocks us, but the ole girl stands her ground. A monitor mounted to the middle dash up front lets us witness the fire and lightning storm. Bolts of silver stab the dead landscape. The sky spits wrecking balls off fire to the ground.
The gods are rumored to be back, Kenya had told me before the Presenting.
Looks like they aren’t happy. They aren’t happy for several moments. I go back to ticks. It’s seventy-two ticks later that the orbs of fire get sucked back into the sky.
Tripp wipes his forehead. His face is flushed in the rear view as he flips the switches again. The panels shutter back into their slots. I gaze out the window and sink into my seat like a deflated doll.
The engine roars, and we swing back onto the road.
Snapshots of hell roll by, and something in me falls away. I thought I had seen bad before I went into hiding. Riots and herds of fear on every TV screen. On every social site. Commercial airplanes crashing. Executions going viral.
But that was not bad. Not displayed beside this. This is the world I left sucked into itself and spat back out into wastelands.
Blackened pools of water. Billowing smoke without fire. Bodies piled into formations that should be impossible.
“Goddess help us,” Kiwi mutters.
I pull my gaze and stare ahead. Sadie’s eyes bob in my memory. I grip the sides of my seat. I’m angry with Kiwi for her cowardice. Angry at Colonel Jax for using Sadie to control me. And, most of all, angry at myself for not protecting her.
Remember where you stand, Mr. Richards.
I swallow. Inside my head, I nod at him. I take his advice. I remember.
I remember the cursed monster. Remember him well. I tried to be something else for her. For Sadie. A father figure. In my head, I laugh.
I can’t be that for her.
In this world, I am her monster. In this world, that is a good thing.
I rock forward as the vehicle slows. My thoughts release Colonel Jax, then I peer through the front window. A low-sitting, rust-kissed gate rolls into view. We stop behind the first car in the convoy. I purse my lips, realizing I have no idea how long we’ve been driving.
“This is our first check point. Twenty minutes.” Juliet pushes open her door, and Kiwi and Tripp follow suit.
I hang back, open my door slowly, and then step out.
I glance up. Dots of feathery red lace thread through the sky.
I follow the others. As I near the gate, I notice the copper remains of a train in the foreground on what’s left of a track.
I linger behind Tripp and Kiwi, who stand near four others, part of the support team I don’t know. Up in front, Juliet speaks to a big ass dude. With a big ass gun. And a big ass, salt-sprinkled beard.
My eyes swing back to the four unknowns. Two of the three men have buzz cuts, Enforcers. The more scarred up buzz cut probably wrangles on the side. I remember their names are Jameson and Stein. Don’t remember when I acquired that info, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.
“Alright, everyone. This is Roscoe,” Juliet’s voice rings out.
I glance ahead. His beefy fingers wave.
“Good. Good to see yins.” He waves us forward. “Come on in while we get yah supplies packed in for yins.”
I grin. Dude sounds like he used to spend time four wheeling for beer.
As the buzzcut’s turn and unlock the gate, Tripp mutters, “Not this time. This deserves an explanation.”
His feet pound away, crunching black gravel as he goes.
“Hm.” I stroll by Kiwi without a glance. “Trouble in loon town?”
I pass through the gate. Roscoe points out the bathroom. A blue porta shitter perches near a ruined, three story concrete building.
People saunter in between plywood structures that serve as homes and makeshift flea market style stands, wrapped in strange combinations of clothing. One woman adorns what looks like a duct tape suit. Another, some young guy, wears a dark Harley helmet and a poncho.
I hit the porta shitter after one of ours, the Asian I now remember from the Presenting, and study the wall.
Symbols are written in heavy, black marker. All kinds, from crosses to pentagrams. As I zip up, I see something from the old world. A small set of boobs.
I laugh and turn to step out. I almost run right into Juliet, who has a little old white lady in her grasp. My eyes narrow.
“This is the last chance you’ll get,” Juliet says. “You’ll need the strength.”
I grin. “I can funnel a little from you at a time.”
She nods at me, then at her offering from the Golden Girls. “Susan.” She turns back to me. “Eat fast, we leave in five minutes. You’re driving to the next check point.”
I shake my head, then hold my hand toward Susan. “Pike.”
“Pfah.” She waves me off, grabs my hand, and then pulls me into an embrace.
I go rigid, glancing around toward a chorus of feet shuffling and doors banging shut. I’m about to politely remind her about personal space, when she releases me.
She peers up at me with blue eyes that make me miss the old sky.
She smiles, then lets out an even sigh. “Father, can you grant me absolution?”
She blinks at me, and for a moment, it looks like she’s holding her breath. I swallow something thick. Something human when I realize she has no idea who she is. What I am.
My mouth opens. I almost tell her the truth, but why bother? I take her hands in mine.
“What’s your confession, Susan?”
She darts her eyes left, takes in a shuddering breath before her gaze locks onto mine.
“My lack of faith… My cowardice, it got my grandchildren k-k-killed.” Her features drop, shoulders trembling in quiet grief.
A horn honks. I jump, and then fire a glare over at the convoy as something pinches in my chest. I stopped breathing. With an inhale, I peer back down at Susan.
Her eyes are wide. “Will you grant me absolution?”
I nod and rush a cross in front of her. Her eyes close, features relaxed. As I lean in to place my lips close to her ear, I try to stamp down the human thing in my chest that felt for her.
I try not to see a little old lady.
It’s almost too easy.
I pucker my lips and whistle. I gulp down her need, and then let her drop to the ground.
Thud.
13
It feels good to drive again. So good that I take over the next two driving shifts. I tap my fingers on the wheel as I zip this bad bitch through the remains of Tennessee. The only thing that would make it better would be music.
Damn, I miss my smart phone.
I click my tongue because it’s too damn quiet. After a while, I start to study my surroundings. It’s not all bad. Stars salt the night sky as I pull up to a row of concrete barriers with a sprinkling of armed guards.
“Stop,” Juliet says from the back.
I tap the brake and put it in park.
“Give me a moment,” Juliet says, opening her door and sliding out. The door slams closed. She passes across the front of the car and saunters toward an approaching guard.
“This place looks familiar,” Kiwi mutters, her voice rough.
“It’s the old University of Tennessee,” Tripp says.
I nod as I glance around, about to remark on how well it’s kept, when a blur of movement stops the small talk. Juliet waves us forward.
Slowly, we all grab our shit, then stagger out of the cramped car. I slide on my pack as I trail Tripp and Kiwi toward the guard, who mumbles a name into his walkie-talkie.
Crackle.
“I’m on my way,” a distorted, female voice says from the walkie-talkie.
The guard, a short tan guy with no neck, gestures with his gun at a security booth.
“You all are clear with Gus up at the booth. The doctor will be up to fetch you shortly.” He nods at us, then strolls back to his post.
Juliet faces us. “You all go ahead. I’ll join you as soon as I can.” Her trademark polite smile stretches her lips, then she walks around us and back toward the convoy.
Tripp starts up for the booth, and we fall in a lazy line behind him. When we reach Gus, he gives us a gummy smile, then smacks down on something in his booth.
There is a low buzz, then a zap before the massive white walls creak open.
Gus waves us through. I’m the last one inside and I crane my back and stare at Juliet, wondering what she’s doing.
A clap makes me blink. I twist my head back around. There is a thirty-something, pale woman with thick-framed glasses beaming at us. She flips her raven hair over her shoulder and slides her hands into the pockets of her teal scrubs.
“You must be Colonel Jax’s people.”
My nostrils flare at the sound of his name.
“My name is Doctor Phila. Welcome.” As she smiles, the Asian guy steps out in front of Tripp.
“Doctor Lee.” He holds out a hand, and they shake. Lee gestures at each of us, rattling off names. Her gaze lands on me last.
“You must be tired.” With a tight smile, she points her thumbs back over her shoulders. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you settled in.”
I follow my group toward a two-story brick structure with white columns. Moonlight glistens off a glass booth in the center of the top step.
“Welcome to Brown Theatre,” Doctor Phila says as we make our way up the steps. “The citizens here at Compound Four like to use this space for prayer meetings and whatnot.” She leads us through a lobby with candles against the wall and names scrawled where play posters used to hang. “For your stay, we’ve set up lanterns and cots. You won’t be disturbed.” She stops next to the entrance of the theater, then jerks her head over her shoulder.
Tripp gasps as he saunters into the dimly lit room. His head jerks left and right, and I imagine his eyes are wide even though I can’t see his face.
He’s probably getting a gay guy boner.
Sorry, that’s not right. I’m sure not all gay guys love the theater. I just never met one that didn’t.
As we pass rows of theater seats, my throat tightens. I sniff. Something doesn’t feel right. I’m not psychic, but I tend to know when something is going to pop off.
I press my lips tight as I step onto a stage lined with cots. Whatever it is, isn’t my concern. My only concern is getting that cure. And the upper hand.
We eat and mingle with a few of the residents of Compound Four. They all seem to be science geeks of some kind. Med students. Nurses. Doctors. Researchers. I even overhear that one of the legendary biochemists on the team that came up with the Atera vaccine is somewhere on the grounds.
I tuck that information away for later use. Then, I take my shower and head back to the theater. I plop on a cot in front of Tripp and pull at my collar.
“Another things I miss,” I say. “Men’s clothing.”
Tripp chortles and backs up to lean against the wall. “And shoes?”
With a snort, I reach under my bed to pull out my guitar case. As I snap open the lid and pull out my guitar I say, “You must be thinking of yourself, or one of your former fag hags.”
He gasps. I sit up and glance over at him, then laugh at the look on his face. As I straighten, he winks at me.
“We both know your black ass owned a ton of shoes.”
I run my fingers over the strings, careful not to pluck any of them. “The thing all black men and gay men have in common. A love for shoes.”
He laughs and nods at the Gip.
“I’ve been wondering what’s up with that,” he says, stifling a yawn.
I run my gaze up and down the medium blue finish. The two white stripes on the left side. A Les Paul traditional, and one beautiful bitch.
The strings flicker with jolts of stored energy. That’s not me romanticizing. There’s literally power coursing through Gip.
“This is my focus,” I say, plucking the pick from the back compartment. “This is what gets us over and into the crossroads.”
There are a few moments of silence, followed by the stirring of our group. Kiwi slides in bed on the other side of Tripp, flips onto her side, and points her back at me.
“What does it do?” Tripp says, voice hushed.
I slip the pick over my thumb and hang it inches over the middle of the strings.
Warmth rushes into me, pounding my heart faster. I suck in a breath. My hand, the one holding the pick, trembles. My muscles tighten as I try to pull my hand back. With a gasp, I manage to slice through the call. I jerk my hand away, then quickly place the pick in its home.
I laugh and glance up at Tripp. “It magnifies my power a fuck ton.” Leaning over, I put the guitar in its case, then slide it back under the bed. I sit up, about to explain what else it does when something crosses my vision from the left.
Juliet has one foot perched at the edge of the stage. She leans over it, then raises her eyebrow at me. I mimic her expression, and she shifts her gaze to the other side of the stage.
“If everyone is settled, it’s two minutes till lock down,” she says,
A throat clears. I scan the stage until my eyes land on Lee.
“You’re locking us in this room? What if…”
Juliet holds up her hand to cut Lee off. “No worries. Support will sleep outside the door in shifts.” She flips her hair.
My eyes narrow almost out of instinct.
“Alright everyone. I need you to focus on getting your rest.” She nods. “Goodnight.”
As she turns to walk away, I reach up into my mind, he part of me that can visualize things into being, and watch her stop. She turns and meets my gaze with visible strain.
A flash of her ripping out my back teeth rushes my mind.
No, I don’t want to hurt her. I just want to remind her.
Her teeth clamp. “Do you need anything, Pike?”
I tilt my head to the side and pretend to think about it. Trying to get a rise out of her. Nothing.
The dynamic between us has changed, she knows it, I know it. This isn’t the Pit where they had me doped up on monkshood and my face covered in a mask. Here, I can make her
do anything, and yet she refused to admit it. If she were anyone else, I’d be impressed.
I lift my hold on her and shake my head. “Nah, you can dip.”
With a nod, she turns and marches down the steps. I yawn, then start to reach for my lantern. A snort echoes on the stage. I pause.
“Were you gonna try and fuck her?” Kiwi says in a crabby tone.
I glance over at Tripp, who rolls his eyes as he lays down.
Shaking my head, I turn off the flickering light and lie on my back. The lanterns in the corners cast long shadows on the walls. I follow their ghost movements. My lids start to feel heavy, and I yawn again.
“Well, I told you I’d give you until tonight to spill. I guess it’s on me to tell him.” Tripp’s voice snaps my drooping eyelids awake.
A loud creak rings out. Then, the brush of movement.
“You keep your mouth closed or I will…”
“Girl, stop.” Tripp cuts Kiwi off. “You know I love you, but I don’t do secrets like this.” He clears his throat, and I sigh. Before I can tell them to shut the fuck up, Tripp says, “Kiwi was a part of what they did to Sadie because she can’t help it.”
I blink into the dim room, then prop myself up on an elbow. “What do you mean she can’t help it?”
There is a thud, then a blur of movement followed by Kiwi stomping down the stage. She throws herself onto the cot farthest from us. I shake my head.
“I mean, she has to. She’s a fury. They use her to ask about things that might screw up this mission. Well, they ask her sisters.” He pauses. “And when they asked them if you thought getting back to Sadie was more important than following orders, they said yes.” A cough. “They said you were already trying to think up ways to get Sadie out and bring Compound Six down.”
I sit rod straight. “They asked her… sisters?” I shake my head in confusion, even though I know he can’t see me.
“They told Colonel Deuce that the only way to guarantee you’d follow orders to the letter was to put Sadie’s life on the line.”
“I’m sorry, but how did they ask her sisters?”
“Through Kiwi. She hears them in her head.”
I’m not amused, but I burst out laughing. “Right. The voices made me do it. Gotcha.”