by P. J. Post
But someone else is in here too, or some thing…and suddenly it feels like ants are burrowing into my skull, tiny pinches, tiny bites, tiny pains — millions of them.
I try to ignore the pain, and think — yes.
She stands up, but Pixie pauses, and then the other voice is, not louder exactly, more insistent, but I can’t understand it — it’s not a voice voice, it’s…the balcony of the Del Ray Motor Inn oozes from the brick wall in front of me…the darkness…the red doors…cries for help…screams of sorrow…Pixie barks, and she and Jem race for the warehouse as the ants and the melting shadows of the Del Ray Motor Inn slip back into the mortar.
I pant and squeeze the pipes tighter.
“Don’t fight them; just kick the ladder off the roof!” I shout after her. “Jem!”
Fuck.
I wipe the sweat from my face, but stop, my hand is covered in blood. I can smell it.
Is that Pixie in my head?
What the fuck is up with the goddamned Del Ray Motor fucking Inn?
And Jem, she was in my head.
Shit just went to a whole different level of weird.
I lean my head against the brick and try to wrap my mind around it.
And then, no — yeah, this is all kinds of Twilight Zone, bizarro world shit, but it changes nothing. I have to trust Jem and Pixie to get to the ladder, to save the kids at the warehouse. Right now, I have to save my own ass, or I’m zombie kibble.
Whatever The Del Ray is, it’s going to have to wait.
Across the breezeway, on Sam and Emily’s building, there’s a series of windows facing into the breezeway. I’m guessing they’re made of safety glass, so they’re not going to break if I jump into them like in the movies. I’ll bounce off and fall, and I’m back to being kibble again.
Button Eyes are everywhere now, bunching up tight below me.
I have pockets full of .45 shells thanks to Keats, and I have a target.
I carefully load my .45, turn, and shoot at the closest window.
A small neat hole appears in the glass.
Sam leans over the edge of the roof. “What are you doing?”
“Find a roof hatch, but don’t go down. We don’t know if this building is clear. Just get it open.”
“Okay, got it…so what are you doing?”
I grin. “Shooting out the window. I’ll jump over and meet you guys.”
“But you said you didn’t know if the building was clear.”
“Yeah, and?”
“So, it’s okay for you to risk your life for me, but I can’t do the same for you?” She scowls.
“I got the extra mojo juice, remember, besides, I didn’t really plan on dying,” I say, smiling. “Can we argue about this later?”
“Hang on.” She disappears behind the roofline. In less than five seconds she’s back. “Stay put, Mister,” she admonishes.
And then she disappears again.
“Brenda?” I call.
She leans over. “Yeah?” She’s a lot more contrite than she was a few minutes ago.
“Can you see the roof we crossed over, the one with the ladder?”
She looks across the rooftops. From down here she looks like one of those World War Two propaganda posters about women building tanks and fighter planes and shit. “Yeah. Why…oh, wait. I see her. How did she know…”
“Know what? What’s going on?”
“Jem, your white-haired friend, the little girl…”
“Yeah, what’s happening?”
“She’s crossing over the ladder, a little white dog is following her.”
Christ.
Does she even have a loaded gun?
“Get the rifle, Brenda, scout for her, take down anything that gets close.”
“Got it.”
“Brenda?”
“What?”
“How’s your aim?”
“Better than my jumping.”
She grins as she wipes at her eyes, and then she’s gone.
I try to clear my mind again, but it’s just me in here now.
And then the crack of the rifle rocks the night again.
There’s a Button Eye on the very first roof, what is Jem thinking?
And then she has to drop down to the next roof…it’s empty, but the one above me is fucking crawling with Button Eyes. How’s she going to get across that?
And where’s Sam?
The rifle goes off again.
Crack.
Crack.
Jesus.
I hear moaning and look up just in time to see another Button Eye walking off the roof, but I’m protected now by the roof access stairway, they can’t get to the section of roof above me.
The rifle barrel sticks out over the parapet wall.
The barrel jerks.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
I squeeze my .45, wishing for a target. I’ve never felt so helpless.
Can you hear me, Jem?
Pixie?
I’m still batshit crazy after all.
Crack.
“Shit!” Brenda curses from above.
“What?” I shout back.
The barrel jerks again as more shots echo through the buildings.
And then the barrel disappears back over the edge of the roof. Is she reloading? Does she have any more clips?
How is Jem going to make the jump?
What about Pixie?
Crack.
My hands are beginning to cramp in the cold.
I try to lean against the building to give my fingers a rest but slip, barely catching myself by the same goddamned pipe my hands have been cramping over.
I look down to see the ledge covered in blood, so are my pants.
And then the window behind me shatters, scaring the shit out of me.
I pivot, expecting a crazed Button Eye, but it’s an old-fashioned, heavy, wooden desk chair; it crashes into the brick wall below the ledge, parts and splinters falling into the mob.
Emergency lights from the window turn the breezeway into an escape scene from a prison movie.
Sam and Emily are watching me.
“Can you make it?” Sam asks. “Or should we find something for you to crawl over on?”
Crack.
“Who’s shooting?” Sam asks, looking up. “Brenda? At what?”
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Brenda is firing off shots so fast…so many targets…
Jem must be right above us. I have to get up there, help her jump, catch her, she’ll never make it on her own, and Brenda can’t catch her and shoot the Button Eyes at the same time.
Jem’s running out of time.
I turn and brace myself, try to find better footing and then crouch as I let go of the pipe, compress my legs, and ignore Sam’s screams to wait. I spring as hard as I can, once more leaping into the night toward the open window. And as I drift across the space, over the ghouls, my hands reaching for the window frame…out of the corner of my eye, I see two shadows streak across the sky above me.
Jem?
Pixie?
And then I’m swinging from the window frame, glass cutting into my hands as my feet stumble over the sill and then I’m falling, pain shoots down my side and hip as I slam into the hard as fuck floor and slide.
I come to a stop and collapse onto my back and wheeze.
I can barely breathe.
Sam crawls to me.
“Oh my God! The blood, what…are you okay?”
I cough. “It’s Jem, how do we get to the roof?”
Sam immediately helps me to my feet, and then we’re following Emily, limp-racing down hallways and through offices, up a flight of stairs and then finally into a small room with the roof ladder.
I don’t slow down.
I’m sucking air, still wheezing.
I scramble up the ladder as fast as I can, my bloody hands slipping on every other rung…
Please…
<
br /> Please, God, let her be alive…
I roll onto the roof.
And I see her.
She’s lying up against the parapet, unmoving, while Pixie whimpers at her side, walking sideways in little circles.
I run across the rooftop as fast as I can and then slide to my knees next to her.
Pixie pounces to the side before crawling back and laying her chin on Jem’s leg.
She looks up at me as if she’s pleading for me to help Jem.
The roof across the breezeway is lined with Button Eyes, watching us, reaching for us, some falling over the edge.
Jem lost her coat somewhere along the way, and her Harvey Dent shirt is ripped and tattered, like the ones underneath.
“I got the ladder,” Jem says through sobs, refusing to look at me.
She’s got nicks and cuts on her hands and face, rips in her jeans, but her shoulder and arm are all fucked up.
I pull the strips of t-shirt from her ruined flesh.
Bites.
Bites.
And more bites.
She’s trying so hard to be tough, but she can’t stop the tears as she fights to catch her breath.
“I just wanted to be with you,” she finally manages to get out.
How did she even get free?
She’s crying like she’s disappointed me. When she finally looks up, her lip is quivering. “I’m sorry.”
§§§§§
Brenda’s voice is soft, compassionate even. “I’m sorry too, kid.”
She raises her rifle to Jem’s head.
I jerk Jem sideways, dragging her behind me as I leap to my feet.
Sam and Emily jump aside as I punch Brenda in the mouth.
“Don’t ever point a fucking gun at her, next time — next time, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Brenda is sitting on her ass, confused and teary eyed, blood running from her nose and lips. Her voice is timid, “You saved me, and I…I tried to save her, but she’s bit, she’s going to turn. We can’t stop it. I know how you feel, but we’ve all had to do it, Lane. We have to put her down. I’m so sorry, but you’ve done it before…and worse.”
“Put her down, like a dog? I don’t fucking think so.”
“Tell her,” Sam says softly.
“Tell me what?” Brenda asks.
I glance at Jem. Her eyes are wide, and for the first time since rescuing her from that awful tree, she’s really scared.
“You’re going to be okay, you’ll see,” I whisper to her as I kneel down, patting her leg.
“How?” Jem asks as she holds her arm, blood oozing between her fingers.
“Remember the special medicine?”
She shakes her head.
“She doesn’t know?” Sam asks. She’s finally getting a good look at all of the blood on my shirt and pants, she frowns, worry creasing her face, but she doesn’t freak out.
“What medicine?” Brenda asks as she slowly stands back up.
The compassion’s gone.
Jem looks up at Sam confused, but Emily sits down beside her, pulling her hand away from the wounds while I begin cutting away layers of her shirts.
The bites are deep. She’s going to scar like a motherfucker.
And I know how much it hurts too — a fuck of a lot.
“What’s going on?” Brenda asks, an edge to her voice.
“We’re going to clean Jem’s wounds,” Sam says irritably.
I shrug out of my coat and begin pulling off my own t-shirts. I go to work on the cleanest ones with my knife, cutting strips as Brenda reluctantly offers up a bottle of water. Sam joins us, dropping to her knees and begins cleaning the wounds as best she can, and Jem tries her best not to cry.
She lays her head on Emily’s shoulder as Emily cradles her, drying her cheeks and whispering to her.
Brenda folds her arms across her chest. “Special medicine, like a cure? Is that it? Do you have a cure to the zombie sickness?”
“Not now,” I say.
“Not now? When? You have a cure to this…this plague, and you’re not sharing? What if something happens to one of us, to Sam, to me?” She’s getting panicky.
“Not now,” I say again, more firmly.
Sam pours water directly into the wounds to clean them.
Jem screams, but Emily just holds her tighter; Pixie whimpers.
The Button Eyes are still standing at the edge of the roof behind us, groaning and grunting, mouthing gibberish as if it were half-remembered words and phrases, arms outstretched, grasping at nothing.
I take Jem’s hand, the one connected to her wounded shoulder. “We’re going to have to wrap the wound to stop the bleeding. It’s going to hurt, a lot.”
Brenda’s watching us closely, pacing around.
“Jem, ready?” I ask.
She buries her face into Emily’s embrace as Sam takes the strips of cloth, pauses for a moment, and then I raise Jem’s arm and she ties off the first bandage.
Jem screams again, tensing her legs and pointing her toes as she kicks at the gravel.
Pixie’s blood will almost certainly cure her. After Holly, and what happened to me, I’m pretty sure she’s going to be okay as long as she doesn’t bleed to death first.
Can we bleed to death?
Are bandages even necessary?
Fuck, who knows.
I can’t think about losing Jem, knowing she’s in this much pain is almost more than I can deal with as it is.
She screams again as Sam expertly spirals the bandages around her arm, making short work of dressing the wound.
Jem finally relaxes and leans forward, holding her arm across her chest as she begins to scratch at her forearm. Her voice is shaky. “Are you sure?”
I pull my last shirt down, showing her my scar again. “Remember?”
Terror fills Emily’s eyes.
I wiggle her foot. “Take care of Jem, I’m good.”
Emily sits back, but still looks worried — confused.
Brenda’s eyes narrow. “When did you get bitten?” He rifle begins to slide forward, the other hand resting over her holstered pistol.
I don’t even stand up. “If you’re going to do it, better not miss,” I say casually.
She looks at Jem and then to me, and then to Sam. “You got bit, but you’re not a zombie, she got bit, but you’re not freaking out, there must be a cure, you’ve had it this whole time and we’ve been cutting off arms and legs…all day.” She’s full of shock and disgust and resentment.
“Which one you want to hear, that I don’t have the cure or that I did, but I used it all?” I ask.
She looks down and then shakes her head slightly as a darkness creeps into her eyes.
She just saved Jem’s life five minutes ago, Pixie Dust or no, but I saved her too, so I guess that makes us even. I can already tell, she’s going to be a problem. Secrets and crowds don’t mix.
She glares at me again, wiping the blood from her face.
“Sam, deal with this shit,” I say and turn my attention back to Jem.
“I know what you are…you won’t get away with this…Ghost!” she shouts behind me, and then I hear Sam’s hushed scolding tone.
“Okay, this is going to hurt some more,” I say.
Jem stares up at me with shiny blue puddles, and braces her hands over her knees, tensing again. Her lips go to quivering.
“You want me to start lying to you like you’re a little kid? Fine. I’m going to put this sweatshirt and some t-shirts on you, and it’s going to feel like unicorn farts, all daisies and stuffed animal tickles.”
Jem grins, red cheek giggles creating a momentary distraction from the pain. “Is not.”
“Big fat liar,” Emily says, laughing. “Unicorns still aren’t real.” And then she looks off into the night, the laughter falling silent.
“What’s up, Punkin’?”
“Teddy. I miss Teddy, that’s all. It doesn’t matter.”
A moment later, a shadow bounces into h
er lap.
Even in the flickering light of the distant fires and emergency lights, the turquoise lined button eyes are easy to spot, so is the frayed, beige fur of Teddy’s decapitated head.
Emily’s face lights up. “Teddy!”
“I forgot I had him,” Sam says, and shrugs sympathetically. “Sorry, it really was a busy day.”
I can’t read Brenda.
“You kept him, I love you, Samantha!” Emily cries as she scoops up Teddy.
“I love you, too,” Sam says, smiling a sad little smile, a smile that would fill up stacks of her postcards to explain.
“Arms up,” I call as I pull my last shirt off, it’s fucking cold. The wound across my stomach isn’t as wide as I thought, but I can tell by the way the blue-white edges are curling that it’s deep.
Jem looks at the wound and then into my eyes as I cut the bloody part off the bottom of the shirt.
“Hurt?” she asks.
I hear a faint echo, no, not an echo, more like I’m hearing it again at the same time.
She’s in my head again…but not like before.
“Some, you ready?” I ask.
Jem reaches for the sky and I begin layering up more t-shirts over hers, ignoring the filth and blood stains, finally shoving my favorite apocalypse sweatshirt over her head, it’s white and reads, You’ve Got Red on You.
Jem grimaces but doesn’t whine.
Emily pouts for her.
And then they giggle through the tears.
The layers of shirts aren’t as warm as I would like, but it only has to get her to the warehouse, and then we’ll figure something else out.
I tie some of the leftover strips around my waist, wrapping my stomach wound and pull my coat on.
It already hurts less, but that could be because I’m slightly faint, probably from blood loss.
I stand up and stagger. Sam steadies me as I stare across the alley at the three rooftops separating us from our friends. It’s right the fuck there, but it might as well be the other side of the planet.
“This is Teddy,” Emily says to Jem.
“Hi, Teddy,” Jem says, “nice to meet you.”
“He’s more fun when he has a body. Lane, can we get Teddy a new body?”
They’re leaning against the parapet wall, arms around one another, holding a Teddy bear head, like it’s a regular Saturday night — a slumber party for two.
“I got him new eyes, didn’t I? A body ain’t no thang, isn’t that what Lane says, ain’t no thang?” Sam says.