Dead Weight

by Casamassina, Matt

  Zephyr tried to argue with her and again she cut him off. “If you’re going to ask me to leave you, I’m going to beat the shit out of you, damn it.”

  “All right, don’t leave me then,” he said. “And thank you. Where am I hit?”

  Trey answered him. “Somewhere between your left shoulder and chest, man. You’re actually pretty lucky, even if you’re not feeling like it right now.”

  “And you’re going to yank out a big piece of wood and then… burn me?”

  “More or less, yep. The good news is that we already broke off the tail end of the post — or whatever it is. So we basically just have to pull what’s already in you out of you. Not sure how big the wound is gonna be, though, so I’ve got a small sauce pan heating up on the stove and—”

  Aurora thumped him. “That’s enough.”

  Zephyr winced. “Good grief. OK. Just do it. Do we have any more alcohol? I don’t care what. Just give me three more shots of something.”

  Aurora returned to his side a few moments later with a large glass of bourbon and lifted his head so that he could drink some of it. He choked as much of the poison down as he could and then bit down on tube socks rolled especially for the occasion before offering a tentative thumbs up from his binds.

  “You’ve never looked sexier, babe,” Aurora said and he flipped her the bird as best he could.

  “I’m ready over here… I guess?” Trey whispered.

  “Look away,” she said. “And close your eyes.”

  He nodded and did as she asked.

  “On the count of three, OK?” she lied, and yanked.

  Zephyr’s back arched and his eyes rolled into their sockets as he coughed something guttural into his gag and pounded on the table. The pain was so intense that he thought he might black out again and his heart palpitated as he struggled for air, his nostrils flaring as beads of sweat formed on his brow. Then, as quickly as it had come, the pain started to dissipate. He had no time to savor it, though, for a new torment was upon him before he realized it. Burning, searing, torture enveloped his shoulder and chest with a hot hiss as Trey slapped a glowing iron pan on the hemorrhaging hole. This was the worst of it—the pain before was a mosquito bite. Without thinking, he spit out his makeshift gag, vomited all over himself, and passed out.

  He woke to cold tile and colder shivers. Now he wore only a wet washcloth on his forehead. He’d been stripped of everything else and the lingering odor of fresh puke explained why. Aurora brushed his damp hair from his face and whispered something to him. He tried to lean forward, and she pushed him back.

  “No, don’t move. You’ve been through a lot.” She sniffled and wiped her nose. “In a few minutes, we’re gonna have to move, and you better believe you’re getting up then. Until then, relax. You’ve earned it.”

  “You got the thing out of me?” he asked in a voice raspier than he liked.

  “Yep. And you’re cauterized. Trey did a good job of it.”

  “That’s a first,” he said and attempted to smile.

  “Yeah, very funny,” Trey replied from somewhere beyond his periphery. “Lots of good ones tonight. Like wiping you down after you blew chunks. That was hilarious. Me and your ball-sack are on a first-name basis now. That’s… not great. Your dick is pretty funny, too, by the way. Lemme tell you something, the mystery of your relationship with Aurora continues to grow, my good man.”

  “Jealousy’s unbecoming,” Zephyr said.

  “Your dick is perfect, baby,” Aurora interjected. “Quiet, Trey.”

  “I’d like nothing more than some peace and quiet, actually. Can we get out of Dodge now?”

  “I can’t go,” Zephyr said.

  Aurora’s posture tightened. “Don’t start that shit with me, Zephyr. You’re gonna be fine and you are going.”

  He shook his head. “No, Rory. I’m staying,” he said and squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going with you this time. And you guys aren’t done operating on me just yet, either.”

  42

  They trudged through the blackness forever as Zephyr drifted in and out of consciousness. Footsteps and heavy breaths and distant shouting and gunfire and laughter and the crunch of broken glass and whispers that he struggled to comprehend before slipping away again. He sometimes woke to the sound of his own snoring, to himself drooling, and struggled against it, to find his footing, and couldn’t. When he moved, there was pain, the world thinned and wavered before him, and so he didn’t. He wondered if she had screamed for him when the building came crumbling down. If she had been in mid-sprint when it all crashed and fell. If she had done anything at all, some last desperate wide-eyed action; some final grasp for help, before her skull collapsed into her windpipe and then shattered the rest of her frame and—

  “Zephyr,” a voice said. “Zephyr, baby, wake up.”

  His throat was as dry as the desert, his eyelids crusted over. He struggled to see and tried to rise, but a gentle hand pushed him back again.

  “No, no, don’t move,” Aurora said. “Here, drink this.” She guided a cup of water into his hand.

  He swallowed and grimaced. The liquid hurt going down, it tasted wonderful and foul simultaneously, and still he drank until she stopped him.

  “Slow.”

  He choked and coughed. “I can’t open my eyes.”

  “It’s just some sleep,” she said, licked a finger and rubbed his lids. “You’ve been out of it for a while. Better?”

  When he blinked, smeary, watery vision returned. Her hair, normally brushed and straight, was disheveled, her eyes swollen, and her tank top stained in blood, likely his. She still looked beautiful. The window behind her showed daylight.

  “Are you OK?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’m just glad you’re OK.”

  “I feel like I ate a cat,” he said, his voice dry and cracked, and massaged his neck.

  “Yeah well, you’ve been asleep for two days, baby. You’re dehydrated.”

  Two days? He was going to ask what happened, and then the memories battered him.

  “She,” he started, and couldn’t stop the torrent of emotion, the sudden inhalation, his wobbly voice, and the tears. “Ssh-shhh—”

  Aurora had him, and she was crying, too, and hugging him and kissing him and telling him that there was nothing any of them could have done. He held her back, the two of them silent for a long time.

  He ran his fingers through her hair. “I love you,” he said, and he wasn’t embarrassed; for the first time, it didn’t matter if his feelings were reciprocated. “You must know that by now, but just in case there was any doubt.”

  “I love you,” she said, kissed him, and he could feel her body spasm with the throes of each silent sob.

  They hadn’t left the penthouse. She and Trey must’ve dragged him to their bedroom, but that was as far as he’d gone since the explosions. Somewhere in the city streets below, Alpha and all of its people had been reduced to crumbled piles of stone and bone. It was a truth that he didn’t want to think about. Not now — maybe not ever.

  “Where’s Trey?”

  “He’s on the roof making sure we’re all good,” she said, and caught herself. “Or at least as good as we can be considering the circumstances.”

  He was coated in sweat and, he discovered, still naked except for a damp blanket that he let slip from his waist as he tried to rise.

  “No way,” Aurora said and pushed him back. “Not a good idea.”

  “I need to pee. Help me up then.”

  So she did, and they were both a little surprised when he could walk unaided. At first, his tingly legs and feet stung with every step, but very soon his circulation flowed true and, although the weakness held, movement was manageable. He sat down on the toilet seat and pissed because he wasn’t sure he could stand that long without passing out or throwing up.

  “I feel like death,” he said, his voice still scratchy.

  Aurora stood in the door frame and peered at him. “I know,
but the important thing is that you’re getting better. You need to drink more water, then eat something, and you’ll start to feel like yourself again.”

  He met her gaze. “So,” he said. “Do I wanna see this wound?” All this time, he’d avoided it, wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

  “Don’t be such a wuss.” There was a hint of a smile back upon her face. “The truth is, it’s pretty bad, but not as bad as it was a couple days ago,” she said. “Besides, we’ve got it taped up. There isn’t much to see.”

  Now he did glance down and confirmed the amateur Band-Aids. Wide, silver stripes formed multilayered Xs across a baseball-sized patch of skin where chest became arm. They’d used duct tape and he thought it made him look a little like a patched-up android. He moved his arm — barely, and then some more.

  “Doesn’t really hurt,” he said.

  Aurora chuckled. “That’s because you’re way high. We’ve been slipping the good stuff in your water every time you drink.”

  “Oh.”

  Now that he thought about it, yeah, it wasn’t just exhaustion and fever. Or maybe it was both of those things with a healthy dose of drugs on top. Either way, he wasn’t in any real pain, and however temporary the relief, he was glad for it.

  A door squeaked open from somewhere behind Aurora, and Zephyr ignored it while he studied his hands and the walls in a futile effort to comprehend just how wasted he really was.

  “Oh, for the love of Christ,” Trey said, cutting through the silence. “First, your balls, and now I gotta step into you taking a shit?”

  Aurora elbowed him. “He looks better though, doesn’t he?”

  “He does,” Trey agreed, and he was smiling.

  43

  Four more days had risen and set as he cycled between sleep, drugged tranquility, nausea, and lucidity, the latter of which came with a heavy price tag paid in pain and memories.

  Occasionally, Aurora or Trey left the penthouse to scavenge food or other supplies from the surrounding rooms, or to survey the city from the rooftop, but usually they remained inside with Zephyr, hid, and waited. Hid from the banter, gunshots and footsteps far and near. Waited for him to heal.

  The disaster across the street had taken all the electricity with it. When they looked out at night, the city was black. Luckily, Trey’s generator still worked, and they hadn’t run out of fuel yet.

  “Where did they all go?” Zephyr asked.

  “No idea,” his friend answered as the three of them spooned mouthfuls of canned beans into their mouths and watched television.

  TV wasn’t what it used to be. Most of the satellite broadcasts had failed since the event. Many stations aired static logos, messages with promises that would never be honored, or nothing at all. Now, though, the selection had dwindled until just two channels played anything worthy of an audience. The first was CNN, which looped a short, grainy video of a marching band as it performed a somber melody over and over and over again. Trey joked that MTV had finally returned, but Aurora said the footage was freaky, so they seldom tolerated it for long. The second was TBS. When they had first browsed upon the station months ago, its grayscale transmission had been a welcome surprise and a small comfort — a reminder, perhaps, of the old world and better times. Late at night after Jordan and Aurora had slipped off, Zephyr would sometimes turn the channel on and watch the movie as it lit up the screen on infinite repeat, and it always made him feel a little better. Now, though, as the townspeople piled into George Bailey’s house and spread holiday good cheer, not to mention their money, the irony licked at him like hot flames, and he realized that he would rather watch the marching band play the world away.

  “They pretty much disappeared,” Trey added, and then corrected himself. “Not like that. I mean, they left. Took off.”

  He shoved another spoonful of cold beans into his mouth. “Mind you, I didn’t even go out to look until the second day because we were, one, focused on getting your ass better and, two, pretty much terrified that someone would search this place and find us. But when I finally did, there was nothing to see. Except, you know, the aftermath.”

  “We’ve heard people, though,” Zephyr said.

  “Yeah, well, of course — I mean, they’re obviously still out there. I just don’t know if they’ve still got an army. They seem to have scattered again.”

  “I think someone needs to go out and look.”

  “Don’t start,” Aurora snapped. “What we’re going to do is get you all the way healed, and then we’re going to find some place far away from here and we’re going to be safe and happy, like we were in New Mexico. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually miss that boring old mansion.”

  He missed it, too, he realized, but he only shook his head. “We were never that safe there. Not really. And I’m not leaving until someone pays for what they did.”

  She glared at him. “Yeah, and it’s gonna be you. With your life.”

  He didn’t turn. “Aurora,” he said. “I haven’t stopped running since this all began. Hell, I ran most of the way to California, usually trying to get away from something rather than face it, because I’ve been scared. Always. But I’m not scared now. And I owe it to Jordan to see this through. I need to see this through.”

  His plan was simple, and if they had listened to him as he lay bleeding and on the verge of passing out several nights ago, the hard part would already be finished. The ones who attacked Alpha, who blew it up, who murdered Jordan… they had something in common beyond their horrific crimes: they were branded. Not all of them, he understood, but more than a few. So he would wear the brand, too, and he would walk among them, get to know them, work his way to their leader, and kill him.

  “Setting aside that this is a death sentence — that you will never get out of there alive, even if you could pull it off,” Trey argued for the umpteenth time. “You expect me to believe you’re just going to waltz in there and blow some dude away? Yeah right. You’re not a murderer.”

  Zephyr shrugged. He thought of the man he’d killed in that awful ransacked Target so many months ago. “I’m telling you, I will,” he said, and he meant it.

  That night, as Trey slept in the next room, Zephyr and Aurora made silent, intense love: the release of pent up tension transformed into passion and fueled by a downpour of every emotion left unchecked. She had done most of the work — his arm was still barely functional and using it in any capacity brought bursts of blasting pain. When they finished, she spooned into him, wrapped his good arm around herself, and whispered, “If you insist on doing it, then fuck it, I’m going with you.”

  He didn’t say anything but his body language, a tightening, a straightening, all instinctual, must have spoken for him, because she launched into the defensive before he ever opened his mouth.

  “Don’t you dare say no, you asshole,” she said and rolled over to face him in the dark, her face so close that he could feel her breath. “You have no right to say no to me. It’s my decision, just like it’s your decision, and I’m going.”

  He tried to kiss her, to diffuse her, and she turned her head.

  “No. I’m going, Zephyr.”

  “I can’t let you,” he started and when she pushed away from him, he caught her. “Wait a second. Let me… Aurora. Wait.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “They are killers. Like the men I rescued you from. And you are the single most beautiful girl anybody has seen — trust me on this,” he said, and when she didn’t respond, he continued. “Me? They won’t give a single shit about me. But you? You’re priceless in this world and they will fight over themselves trying to get at you. They’ll kill me just to take you. To own you, Rory.”

  44

  Four days later, Zephyr moseyed along the stretching sidewalks of Santa Monica Boulevard and pondered the golden hue that blanketed the city, a gradient that seemed exclusive to Southern California. Even in the winter, that beautiful summer tone hung over the landscape and belied the hazards at every
footstep, he thought, as he traced the painful scab on the back of his neck with one finger.

  He was alone now, just as he had been that first morning. Trey had understood at once that there’d be no deterring him, but Aurora had fought with everything she could muster, threats and tears included. Turning them away was an exercise in torture — maybe not as agonizing as the physical kind, his throbbing neck a constant reminder of that — but miserable all the same.

  “Please,” she had cried, her arms around him. “Promise me you will meet us there.” And he had nodded, knowing that there was no guarantee.

  There, in this case, was the luxury resort in Palm Springs. The hotel where he’d surrendered his virginity. With a little luck, Trey and Aurora would be back there by now, or arriving soon. With a lot more luck, Zephyr would rendezvous with them in fewer than thirty days. Any longer than that, and they would move on. Aurora didn’t want to stay in California any more.

  “If we’re not there, we’ll be in New Mexico at the old house,” she had told him. “Or, at least I will. I haven’t even asked Trey yet.”

  He’d sighted them with his scope and watched them go from his window. First, to cover them if anybody should impede their progress. But mostly, just to see them. To catch one last glimpse of her and hold it in his mind’s eye.

  Nothing extraordinary had befallen him in the days since they walked out of his life. He had his rifle, some rations, including a backpack full of protein bars and two bottles of water. And best of all, his health seemed to have stabilized. He no longer felt nauseated or dizzy as he rose or after standing for extended periods. He could walk, which is what he did. He walked the city unabated and unafraid.

  There was no army.

  Sometimes he came upon people but the encounters were more depressing than anything else. The first day After Aurora, or 1 AA, as he now thought about it, he saw a fat, scruffy, red-headed man in his late forties. Zephyr came upon him as he explored the city and saw movement from his periphery. There in some blown out store window was the man, relaxing in an armchair and watching a lifeless television while flames leapt and danced from an oversized cooking pot at his feet — an improvised bonfire. On 2 AA, he happened upon a gathering of four teenage boys, draped in blankets and drinking beer at the beach. When they saw him, they turned and sprinted into the opposite direction and nothing he shouted could bring them back. On 3 AA, a bicycle fell from the sky and crashed against the sidewalk only a few feet before him. When Zephyr looked up and then examined the windows on the building adjacent him, a lone hand flipped down the bird from a window several stories up.