Dead Girls Don't Cry

by Casey Wyatt

  Moisture settled on my skin the moment I entered the building. The earthy smell of green grass on a hot day coated my nose and throat, stirring nostalgic memories of Austin. In an instant, the hothouse was my new favorite place. With hands outstretched on either side, I ran my fingertips over the glossy leaves and damp root balls.

  Pure bliss. I sniffed, scenting the air. I gagged. What was that vile smell? The rotten stench soured my mood. The source was a large, open vat of gray zombie skin floating in milky white liquid. A web of tubing led out of the vat directly into the hydroponic watering system. Double gack.

  Once I moved away from the area, the smell subsided.

  It’s no different than using cow manure as fertilizer, I reminded myself.

  Satisfied with my new outlook, I continued my tour, thinking how great it would be to work among the plants and budding fruit trees. I doubted I could move my office inside, but maybe I could volunteer my time when I wasn’t acting as a glorified paper pusher.

  At the moment, it appeared the caretakers were elsewhere for the evening. The rotating trays were motionless, the misters silent. For the first time since we had escaped with our lives, peace settled into my heart.

  An awful awareness smacked me in the face. I’d go nuts if I never saw a tree again. Or lay in the sun on the warm grass. I shook my head. I couldn’t afford to indulge in despair anymore. If I didn’t have a positive attitude, I could damage the morale of the whole colony.

  I balled my fists by my side and straightened my spine. Time to grow up. Yes, I could do this.

  Resolve firmed each step as I chose to find the good in the situation. These plants lived. On Mars. A feat that human scientists would insist was impossible. The undead did this. Zombies, no less. Creatures that revenants and vampires looked down their noses at as inferior. I’d bet money someday the zombies would find a way for vegetation to thrive outside.

  A lump formed in my throat. My mother used to say, “There’s a purpose for all things. God has a reason for every trial.” And there’s a silver lining in every cloud. None of this would have been possible if Thalia hadn’t been a greedy bitch. Maybe I should send her a thank you note.

  Nah.

  I found a small office tucked into the far corner. I peeked inside. The space was well organized. The petite desk was clutter free with minimal paper work. A stark contrast to the disaster area I occupied. Red jumpsuits of various sizes were housed in a tall vertical locker. Shelves and cubbies lined the walls, filled with labeled and neatly stacked boxes. Each box contained seeds: watermelon, cucumbers, eggplant, and numerous flowers. Planting schedules were tacked on a cork board over the desk. Next up on the growing schedule – summer squash, strawberries and sugar snap peas.

  Excited, I read the next list. It was names and dates. My grinned faded. A zombie molting schedule will have that effect on anyone.

  Manure. Think manure. No zombie skin aversion allowed. Time to —.

  Goose bumps prickled my arms. I wasn’t alone.

  Then, I heard it. A sound that didn’t belong. The metallic skitter of tiny claws scraping the smooth floor.

  The noise, faint at first, grew progressively louder. I searched around the tiny office. It didn’t sound very large. Kind of like an annoying insect buzz.

  My hackles rose as I realized, whatever it was, was overhead. “Nobody ever thinks to look up” was my brother Edwin’s favorite saying. He’d proclaim the annoying catchphrase right before he jumped off a tree limb scaring me out of my wits.

  With slow deliberate motions, I feigned ignorance, pretending to shuffle papers around on the desk. Underneath the pile was a pair of pruning shears. I grabbed the shears and headed out of the office. I dashed to the left side of the door and stood motionless. I had a clean view of the desk, but remained concealed from whatever was in the office.

  Gyros whizzed and mechanical parts clacked in a steady rhythm, then stopped. A multi-legged robot— a giant spider with glossy eyes—thumped onto the desk top.

  I’m not afraid of spiders. Never have been.

  I was scared of this one. It wasn’t one of Mother Nature’s creations. It was a manufactured monstrosity. What kind of spider comes equipped with laser dot sights instead of eyes? A robotic death spider, that’s what!

  I peered closer, then shivered. Hypodermic needles were strapped to its legs. Gray liquid filled the syringe casing. Perfect. Enough silver to kill me for sure.

  The office filled with thin red beams as the spider scanned the room, trying to locate me. I pressed flatter against the office’s outside wall. I couldn’t stay in the position for long. The robot would leave to search for me.

  I slowly backed up, mindful of the plants around me. Careful not to rustle or bang into anything, I started to make my way back to the entrance, circling around a plant box. The plants on either side of the aisle rustled and it hadn’t been my doing.

  I froze.

  Another robot skittered down the path and stopped a few feet in front of me. Red lines scanned the area, the laser light molding over my shape. Maybe the robot was programmed to detect movement and if I stayed motionless, it would move on.

  No such luck. It emitted a high pitched squeal. More spiders emerged from the plants.

  I ran. I needed a game plan and fast. Spiders jumped at me from multiple directions. There were too many for me to fight off hand to hand. I flew upward, hoping they couldn’t reach me.

  My abrupt disappearance stopped the robots. Hundreds of laser sight scanned my previous location. As long as they didn’t look up, I could float over to the doorway. It was a good solid plan, except one of the little buggers looked up.

  Screeches sounded off. The spiders pivoted in my direction. I darted toward the door. The spiders followed. In order to leave, I’d have to go lower. I dropped altitude and snagged on the gears of the plant conveyer. Momentum jerked me backward. I landed in the zombie skin vat. Putrid fluid invaded my nose and mouth, gagging me. The nearest robots plunged in after me, splashing in several at a time.

  They aimed for me, needles out. Patches of zombie skin darted toward the robots, attaching to their carapaces. In moments, the robots were covered in seething flesh. The spiders writhed and fought, unable to escape. Wires short-circuited. Hot white sparks sizzled. Inert, the machines sank to the bottom of the vat.

  I surfaced, breaking through the scum layer floating on top. There were two robots left. They each apprised me with their red eyes. Unlike their counterparts, they didn’t rush to enter the water. Smart spider bots?

  We were at an impasse.

  I broke first, lurching out of the tank. No way was I staying in the nasty vat of zombie skin.

  I still held the pruning shears in my hand. I clicked them at the nearest spider. “I bet these are strong enough to snip off your little legs. Wanna have a go?”

  The little beast backed away. I charged. The spider ran. I was faster. With a few strategic snips, the legs dropped, leaving a twitching torso. The second spider rappelled close to my ear. Silver tipped needles pumped out. I sprang away, creating distance between us. The robot mirrored my every move.

  I slipped on a puddle of zombie goo. The spider targeted my chest.

  With a sharp crack it fell to the ground. A massive work boot crushed it with one hard stomp.

  “Ms. Cordial.” Ian’s rogue, the scarred one, offered me a hand up. “I’m Philip.”

  “Thanks. You didn’t let the spider inject you, right?”

  Philip gave me a look that said, Puh-lease. I eat metallic spiders and shit them out before breakfast. I winced, accepting the lift. Stupid, stupid question, Cherry.

  “Got a problem with bugs?” His mouth twitched as if laughing at his own joke.

  “In a manner of speaking. Ever seen one of these before?” I nudged the spider bits with the toe of my boot.

  “No.” He retrieved a plastic storage container and scooped the robot instead, careful not to touch the needles. Tucking the box, under his arm, he said
, “Ian’s in the caves. He asked me round you up.”

  I peered around his large mass.

  “Ma’am?” he asked, curious.

  “Just checking for your rope.”

  He didn’t even crack a small. I elaborated, “You know, round up? Rope. Like a cowboy.” Crash and burn. Eyes, black as coal, studied me like I was a freaky science exhibit. I’d probably insulted him. “Wait. Did you say Ian’s in the caves? Last I saw him he was in the mess hall.”

  “If you’d follow me, I’d surely appreciate it,” he said.

  “I’m changing first.” I slid into the office and retrieved a red jumpsuit nearest my size. The sleeves and leg had to be rolled up, but I didn’t care. I refused to stink like rotten meat for the rest of the night. There was nothing I could do about my damp boots. I’d have to deal.

  “Ready,” I said, daring Philip to comment on my oversized outfit. He wisely said nothing. When we came to the greenhouse door, he insisted on holding it open for me. I allowed it. Like me, he’d been brought up in a time of gentlemanly manners. To refuse would have insulted him.

  We boarded a hovercraft and Philip piloted the craft in the direction of the caves.

  Conversation was minimal. I questioned and he answered in ten words or less.

  “You’re not very loquacious are you?”

  “No, Ma’am. I talk when I have to.” The southern twang in his voice more pronounced this time.

  “Where’d you grow up?”

  “Texas.”

  “So you should have gotten my rope joke.”

  “Yes. If you don’t mind me saying, it wasn’t very funny.” He smiled apologetically, then went silent again.

  Finally a whole sentence and it’s to tell me my joke sucks. We spent the rest of the ride in silence. The closer we got to the caves, the warmer the bracelet grew.

  The ebony sky glittered with stars. So beautiful and majestic, I could have spent hours watching them. Phobos, close to the horizon, crawled across the sky. I had read somewhere eventually the moon would crash into Mars. I hoped I was long gone before that happened.

  The ravine loomed in the horizon. Philip parked beside two other vehicles belonging to Jay and his crew.

  “Why are we here?” I hopped down unaided.

  Philip shrugged, “I’m following orders. I’m to safely escort you to the entrance then head back.” He handed me a back pack, presumably filled with supplies. I shouldered the bag.

  A flashlight illuminated the path. “I don’t see so well at night on account of an injury to the head. Didn’t heal quite right,” Philip said over his brawny shoulder, tapping the thick scar marring his forehead.

  “How did it happen? If you don’t mind telling me.”

  “Silver shovel to the head. We were on a raid. One of the rogues had been kidnapped by revenants,” his voice lowered. “She didn’t make it. And I nearly died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. We knew the risks. Ian saved my fool life. I went in there half-cocked and over confident. Turns out revenants are tough SOBs.”

  Remembering my encounter with them, I agreed. “They are definitely solid pains in the ass.”

  Philip roared in laughter. The sound bounced around the canyon. The echoes grew in size until it sounded like ten men having a fit. “Got that right, Ma’am. That’s a good one. Mind if I tell it to the others.”

  I shook my head, males. I don’t understand them. “I’d be pleased if you shared it.”

  The second trip didn’t seem to take as long. Possibly because the heavy winds were absent this time. A gentle breeze accompanied us down the canyon.

  With the ice melted between us, Philip and I shared more jokes and stories from days gone by. Turned out were contemporaries, born the same year. He’d even been vamped the same year as me – 1900.

  Unlike me, he’d wanted the change, to seek revenge on the bandits who killed his family. I shuddered at the horrific details of his mother and sisters’ rape and murder. The bastards got what they deserved once Philip caught up with them.

  When the vampire who sired Philip was later killed, he was left alone and unprotected. Then he joined Ian.

  “A decision I’ve never once regretted.” He slowed down as the incline grew steeper.

  “But how do you feed? Don’t you need a sire to keep your blood healthy.”

  Philip’s large hand waved off the concern. “Nah. That’s hogwash. Sires keep that story alive so they can maintain their power base. We feed off each other with no issues.”

  Shock stung me, followed by a dozen questions. “If you’re feeding together, than aren’t you a de facto family?”

  The large shoulders went up and down in a pronounced shrug. “We don’t share a blood bond. And we can leave the group anytime we choose. Ian’s band isn’t the only rogue group out there.”

  “How do you stay protected then?” I had so much to learn about being a sire and this new information was unexpected.

  “We have each other. Careful, there’s the sharp bend,” Philip dropped back and positioned his body so I was against the wall. “You slide in first.”

  “Thanks for the escort. And the information.” I compared Philip’s large frame against the narrow rock opening. It would be a tight squeeze.

  “I’ll fit through. Good thing I can’t gain weight.” He patted his flat abdomen.

  I laughed, glad to see our senses of humor had finally aligned. “True.”

  Ian waited for me inside, a smile on his handsome face. I melted a little, wanting to rush into his arms. Only Philip’s presence stopped me.

  “Come over here, luv. There’re no secrets in front of my rogues.” Ian winked at Philip.

  Unable to wait any longer, I rushed into Ian’s embrace and kissed him long and deep. Pulling back, I asked, “Missed me?”

  “Always. I’ve got a surprise for you.” Ian nodded to Philip, “Thanks, mate. Come round and pick us up after noon.”

  “Sure thing, Ian. Nice to speak with you, Ma’am.” Philip bowed his head and turned to leave.

  When he was gone, Ian remarked, “Nicely done, dearest. Philip doesn’t warm up to just anyone.”

  I hid a pleased smile from Ian as he led me towards the left hand arch. “So why am I here?”

  “So impatient,” he said, escorting me down the hall of murals. “I have a present for you. No more questions about where we’re headed.”

  Satisfied for the moment, I relented. “How are Jay and the team coming along?”

  “They’ve found several chambers,” Ian paused as if choosing his words. “Many of them contain objects of unknown description or use.”

  “Kind of like the ship.”

  “Exactly,” Ian stopped in front one of the ancient paintings and placed his palm upon a small blue square. I would have guessed it was a part of the picture. With a small snick, the square pushed in.

  The wall slid open. “I’ll go first.” Ian held my hand and walked through the doorway. “Step down.”

  The chamber’s ceilings were about fifteen feet high, decorated with brightly colored mosaic tiles. Equipment was stacked hodge podge in the corner. A lone figure sat hunched over a laptop.

  “Wait until you see what we found today,” Jay said, without lifting his head or stopping what he was doing. His black hair was tousled and unkempt from his habit of running his fingers through it when he was thinking. Judging by the hair’em scare’em look, he’d been thinking a lot.

  “Later,” Ian said, continuing past. Another door led to the massive cavern with the blue walkways.

  “Impressive. The shortcut saved at least a half hour of walking.” We didn’t skip the magic conveyor belts. The paths whisked us to the lake’s cavern. A new structure rested by the water’s edge. A suspiciously familiar looking place.

  My hand covered my lips as recognition took hold. “My house?” I jogged toward it, not waiting for Ian’s answer.

  He came up alongside me. “It was the best I could do
with limited resources.”

  Even though the siding was steel instead of cedar, the door was in the same spot as my former cottage. As I circled the exterior, the windows matched too. “This is incredible. You did this for me?”

  “Only for you, sweetheart.” Ian brushed his fingers against my neck, a light kiss followed. Tingles floated down my spine, warming my belly.

  “But how? You’ve never been to my house.”

  “Jay helped. He showed me pictures. I filled in the blanks.”

  “I love it. Thank you.” Flinging my arms around his neck, I pulled him down for a slow kiss, wondering if it was furnished. A bed would be nice.

  Ian, lips locked on mine, walked us toward the door, opened it and pulled us inside.

  I broke away, awed by the accuracy of the layout. Each room was as I remembered. Chairs occupied the place where the couch had been. The kitchen window overlooked the lake. Taking Ian by the hand, I led him to where my bedroom should be.

  The bed was a pile of sleeping bags, overlaid with blankets. A lantern emitted a soft orange glow. Fresh cut herbs scented the room.

  “Sorry, we don’t have a real mattress,” Ian said, rubbing the back of his neck. “The plan is to add more furniture. I hope you consider this your private oasis.” Behind his quiet demeanor, his watchful gaze told me how much my reaction mattered to him. He had nothing to worry about.

  I swallowed back the burning lump in my throat, not wanting to cry and give him the wrong impression. “No one has ever done something so special for me.”

  “I’m glad I could be the one then,” he smiled, blue eyes twinkling. The low light accented his fine features. Lust burned my insides. Could have been mine or his. It didn’t matter.

  Emotion burst through me, breaking the last of my resistance. I wanted him. Not merely physically, but in my heart.

  “Ian,” my voice was soft and throaty, “make love to me. Here in this place.”