Writing on the Wall (Survival Series)

by Ward, Tracey

  He rises to leave but I stand quickly as well, leaning over the table and shoving my finger in his face.

  “And next time you try and remember that you’re not my pimp, I’m not one of your girls and if you want my help you’ll watch the way you talk to me. Understood?”

  This is a moment in my life when I seriously wonder if I’m going to get slapped. I’m mouthing off to a Stable Boy from The Hive, a guy whose job it is to keep women in line, doing what they’re told and making the very testy, very violent men at the top of his food chain happy. He minds the coffers and the coins all have PMS. It can’t be an easy job. It could easily be one he manages with an iron fist.

  His jaw works under the taught skin of his face. It clenches and releases as he chews on what I’ve said. He carefully, dispassionately considers me. His calm is freaking me out. I’d rather he was yelling. I’d almost rather he hit me. Eventually what he does is smile.

  “Understood, Kitten.” he replies, his voice low and rough.

  His eyes bore into me with a heat that I recognize. A hunger I’ve seen before. It reminds me of Ryan and it hurts in my heart like you wouldn’t believe. I haven’t let the thought sink in because it’s massively inconvenient and wholly unlike me, but it’s undeniable. I miss him.

  I lower my hand. “Don’t.”

  He grabs my hand before I can pull it back. He uses it to pull me forward over the table. I have to brace myself on my other hand so I don’t fall over. Suddenly my face is inches from his.

  “Don’t what?”

  I look him hard in the eye and shake my head firmly. “Don’t make it like this. We’re not like this, you and I.”

  “Who’s to say we couldn’t be?”

  “Me.”

  He chuckles. It smells like honey, dripping and sweet. “Come on, Kitten. Don’t you ever get tired of being alone?”

  “Are you gonna fix that for me, Vin? Are you gonna be with me and stay with me forever? Can you handle that?”

  “Is that what you’re looking for?” he asks me, his voice and grip tightening. “The fairytale and forever after? Because I’ll break it to you now; it’s a myth. It always has been.”

  “I’m not holding out for forever. I’d be happy with tomorrow but you can’t even promise me that so let’s stop this before it gets weird and we can’t come back from it.” I feel eyes on us and I look over his shoulder to see Caroline there in the doorway. Her eyes are livid. They’re promising me the eternity Vin can’t, only this one I imagine to be far less enjoyable. “And before your girlfriend gets the wrong idea.”

  “My what?” He follows my eyes over his shoulder. When he sees Caroline he curses, clenching his hand and pinching mine in the process. I let out a small whimper of pain that makes him jerk his head back to me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Let go of me.” I say, swatting at him. When he releases me I rub my hand, trying to ease the ache.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  “I got in a fight.” I grumble.

  He raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Did you win?”

  I glare at him. “Are you serious? Of course I won.”

  “What happened?”

  “A girl jumped me while I was sleeping. I punched her in the face. Then in the ear. Finally she went away.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I punched her.” I enunciate slowly.

  “Why did she jump you?” he growls.

  “No idea.” I say looking back at the doorway. Caroline is gone. She’s too short and the hair color is all wrong anyway. “But if it happens again, I’m finishing what she started.”

  ***

  Four days after the attack I still haven’t found the girl who did it. I’m wondering if she’s hiding and her words about wanting me to find her were all talk. I cross paths with Nats and ask her to keep a look out on her shift but so far no luck there either. I’m beginning to think the chick is a magician and either escaped or has moved on to another Colony.

  I take Nats and Vin’s advice. I start to make friends with the people in the kitchen. There are six of us in there during our shift, four women and two men. I find it surprisingly easy to talk to them, almost like they were waiting for me to give them the chance. And what do they want to hear about most from the girl from the outside?

  The gangs.

  “Is it true they eat people?” Steven, a portly forty-ish guy asks me.

  He’s one of the very few people I’ve seen in the last decade with any kind of weight problem. I have a feeling it’s got a lot to do with the “tasting” that he does in here. He’s the head chef and rightly so. The man is a magician with water, carrots and thyme. I’m convinced he could make manure edible.

  “Some of them do.” I say cautiously, cutting up apples. Endless amounts of apples for canning and eating and applesauce and apple bread and who knows what else. “Not all of them, though. As far as I know there’s only one gang that does.”

  “Have you ever seen them?” Crystal asks. She’s about Steven’s age but whisper thin with hair almost as red as mine.

  “Yeah, from afar. They look totally normal. Just like you and me.” I tell her, heading off the question I see coming.

  People think that just because you eat someone you look like a freak. Not so. Serial killers were charming, upstanding members of society back when there was one and the cannibals in the wild are the same way. It’s the freakiest thing about them; their normalcy.

  “Do they really keep Risen as pets?”

  “Not that I’ve ever seen, but I’ve heard about zombie fights.”

  “What, like boxing a zombie?” Steven asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

  “No, like cock fights.”

  “Oh. How do you get them to fight each other?”

  I don’t answer. I don’t want to, not around all this food. How they do it… it’s disturbing. It involves masks. What the masks are made of is the key here. That is if it’s true, which it might not be. I actually really hope it’s not.

  Amber, a brunette with bright eyes and a face that reminds me of Breanne, changes the subject. I’m eternally grateful.

  “Is it true most guys in gangs are gay?”

  I laugh so hard I almost cut my finger instead of the apple. Tears spring in my eyes. “Please ask Vin that. Please!”

  Amber laughs as well, but blushes. She’ll never ask him but I don’t care. That moment in the kitchen is the best and brightest I’ve had in weeks. I feel like I’m doing Nats and Vin proud making friends. But for some reason Melissa pulls me out of the kitchen a few days later and gives me some terrible news.

  It’s time for me to try my hand at sewing.

  I wish they’d let me save us all the trouble and listen to me when I say that this is not my place. But Melissa isn’t hearing any of it.

  “You’ll do great!” she beams, leading me through the building to where they store the machines and fabrics. “Everyone has hidden talents. You have so much potential but you’ve been robbed of the chance to experience it. We’re giving that back to you. It’s so exciting!”

  I am not excited.

  She continues to lead me toward the sewing room, which I think is odd. I know where it is because I saw it on the tour. I tell her as much but, again, she isn’t hearing it.

  “I want to make sure you meet everyone and get settled in.” she insists.

  She wants to make sure I show up is what it is and fair enough because, left unattended, I wouldn’t set foot in that room. As it turns out I’m glad I do. The second we walk in and all heads lift from their work to see who has arrived, I come face to face with my attacker.

  The room is laid out long and narrow. A large loom that I imagine was part of an exhibit sits at the far end along with two ancient looking sewing machines, the kind from the old days that you pedaled with your feet instead of running on electricity. Most of the 10 or so women in here are sitting at long tables with baskets of fabric, pins, patterns and God knows what else in front of
them but I only have eyes for one.

  “Everyone, we have a newbie here.” Melissa sings, pulling me forward to put me on display. “This is Joss. She’s been through a lot of the outdoor jobs recently, staying out in the fresh air. She’s needed to take her time adjusting to the good life.”

  She smiles at me as the room breaks into small chuckles.

  I smile faintly, trying to look sheepish. “I’m blown away by having a hairbrush again. Everything else is a little overwhelming.”

  More soft chuckles around the room. I can feel all eyes on me as they weigh me down with their pity. Melissa even whispers an “Oooh” and rubs her hand on my back. I resist the urge to shake free.

  “Well, that nightmare is over. You’re safe and sound with us now, sweetie. Girls, let’s make her feel at home, alright? Who would like to show her the ropes?”

  All hands in the room rise eagerly. All but one. I look at my attacker and watch as she tentatively raises her hand, obviously not sure about being in close quarters with me. But if she doesn’t raise her hand like everyone else it will look suspicious and the sheep mentality of this joint rolls over me hard in a hot, smothering wave.

  I have got to get out of here.

  “Lovely, thank you!” Melissa cries, happy to see everyone so eager to take me on. She gestures to the group and smiles at me. “Take your pick.”

  I pick the hesitant girl with the fading yellow bruise around her eye.

  She’s about twenty five or so, petite and kind of mousy. I’m pretty surprised she felt confident enough to take me on. My left shoe weighs more than this girl.

  She watches me closely as I walk toward her and sit down slowly at her end of the table. I’m sitting directly beside her specifically to make her nervous. I’m in her peripheral but there’s nothing separating us, there are sharp scissors in her basket only a foot away from me and I’m a big angry unknown for her.

  I smile warmly, extending my hand to her. “I’m Joss. What’s your name?”

  “Lexy.” she murmurs.

  “Not gonna shake my hand, Lexy?” She doesn’t answer. “Probably smart. I have a pretty brutal handshake. Nice eye, by the way.”

  “Nice right hook.” she replies, turning to look at me.

  I smile again. “I have a lot of practice.”

  “That answers my question then.”

  “What question? Whether or not I can kick your ass?”

  She shakes her head, looking away. “I wasn’t looking for a fight.”

  “You grabbed my face in the dark while I slept. If not a fight, then what were you looking for?”

  Lexy glances down the table nervously. I look as well and catch all eyes on us. They quickly go back to their work.

  “I was looking for you.” Lexy whispers.

  I frown. “Why?”

  “There are rumors that one of you in the group that just arrived was living alone on the outside.” She leans in closer to me. I think it’s a brave move because I don’t like it. At this point, even I don’t know how I’m going to respond to her. “A lot of people think it was that girl Nats but I’ve always thought it was you.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because you know stuff. Stuff that isn’t filtered by the gangs or… other people.” she replies as though it were obvious.

  Now I’m intrigued. “What stuff am I supposed to know?”

  “How’s it going, girls?” Melissa asks, appearing out of nowhere.

  “Great.” Lexy says with a buoyant smile. She’s good at turning on the happy, a lot like Vin, and I remind myself to be wary of her. “We were just talking. Getting to know each other. What pattern do you want me to teach her?”

  “Something simple to start. I don’t think she’s going to be much of a seamstress, right, Joss?”

  Her sweet tone makes my skin itch. Do they teach that tone here? The pitch of the voice that rides in your veins and vibrates at a frequency that makes you feel like you’re ready, willing and able to murder puppies in front of children? What kind of jacked up witchcraft is that? It’s like the devil’s brown note.

  “Dead friggin’ on, Mel.” I tell her happily. “I’m better at ripping things apart than putting them together.”

  Melissa smiles tightly as she retreats to the doorway. She stands watching the room but really she’s watching me. I’m pretty sure that ripper comment is going to get back to Caroline which means it will probably get back to Vin and I’ll get another lecture. Woo. Hoo.

  “So this pattern is for a children’s t-shirt. It’s the easiest one we have.” Lexy says, pulling out material and laying it in front of me.

  “That’s great.” I say, pushing it aside. “What stuff do you think I know?”

  “Nothing.” she mutters, glancing at Melissa. “It’s not a good time.”

  “You must have thought I knew something good if it was worth sneaking up on a girl from the wild while she was sleeping. So what was it?”

  She doesn’t answer me. I sigh. I’d rather she wanted a fight. This is annoying.

  “Why are we making children’s shirts?” I ask, examining it. There’s a lot of letters and symbols all over this thing but none of it means anything to me. “I haven’t seen a single kid here.”

  “Not in this Pod, but there are children in others. They grow so fast, go through clothing so quickly we all help make things for them.”

  “That’s what you guys call each other? Pods?”

  “Yeah. What—“ She takes a breath. “What do you call us on the outside?”

  “Colonies.” I say with distaste. “You’re all the same thing to us.”

  “How many are there?” she asks, her voice barely audible.

  “How many of what are there? What are you asking?”

  “How many Pods? How many Colonies are there?”

  “How should I know? Three I think, though probably more.” I say, surprised by the question. “Wait, do you not know? How do you not know?”

  Her eyes dart to Melissa as she fiddles with the pattern absently. “They don’t tell us.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “They don’t tell us a lot of things.”

  That, I think, is not so weird. This Colony is smaller by far than the other two in the stadiums and I wonder if they’re the only ones kept in the dark. Are there larger Colonies somewhere else that keep secrets from the stadiums?

  “Did they tell you that the zombie population was almost gone a couple months ago?” I ask casually, taking a gamble.

  She freezes, her brows pinching in confusion. “That’s impossible. Have you seen how many Risen are outside?”

  “Yeah and it’s nuts compared to downtown. Up until recently when one of your Pods fell, the Risen weren’t even much of a problem.”

  Lexy stares at me, her eyes suddenly sharp. “What makes you think a Pod fell recently? How recently?”

  I study her face and I wonder how far I should go with this conversation. Twice now I’ve seen how quickly this girl can flip the switch and become someone else when the need is there. I wonder if I’m seeing the real her now or if this is all an act to draw me out. To find out what I know about their operation. Maybe she, Mel and Caroline are the best of friends and I’m sewing with the enemy here.

  I push the pattern across the table toward her and sit back in my chair. “Why don’t you go ahead and show me how to make that shirt now?”

  ***

  Vin shakes his head. “That’s not a shirt.

  “It is too a shirt!” I cry indignantly. “Nats, tell him it’s a shirt.”

  Nats, who is just waking up and enjoying a rare moment with us, sighs warily. “Honey, it’s not even close.”

  “What? Yes it is. It has a neck and sleeves. I worked really hard on this!”

  “Put it on then.” Vin challenges.

  I scowl at him. “It’s a child’s shirt. I can’t fit in it.”

  “Too many waffles.”

  “Excuse me?!”

  He p
ulls the shirt from my hands and holds it up in front of me. “Show me where the kid’s arms fit through.”

  I roll my eyes. “They fit through the sleeves, here and her—ah hell.”

  I’ve sewn the sleeves shut.

  “Do you see why it’s not a shirt now?”

  “Shut up.” I mutter, snatching the shirt back from him.

  Despite our awkward moment, Vin and I have fallen back into our regular routine. Caroline must have been thoroughly reassured of his affection for her (a thought that makes me ill) because she hasn’t given me the murderous look she did in the cafeteria. She still hates me, that much is clear, but she looks at me more like she wants to end me quickly as opposed to dancing in my blood.

  “So this girl that attacked you,” Nats asks, thankfully changing the subject. “You couldn’t get a read on her?”

  “No, not really.” I admit. “I mean, I think she’s legit but then again people aren’t really my thing, you know?”

  “Yeah, we know.” Vin says emphatically.

  I throw the non-shirt at his face.

  “How’s Breanne doing?” Nats asks.

  “She seems alright.” Vin tells her gently. “Caroline’s really taken her in.”

  “Caroline really takes in a lot of people.” I say brightly. “Right, Vin?”

  “I knew it.” He smiles. “I knew you were dirty. I just had to wait and have faith.”

  “So you think she’s okay?” Nats presses.

  “Yeah, I think she’s great. Places like this, they really do work for some people. Breanne is one of them. She’s happier here than she ever was at The Hive.”

  “And you’re not worried about going back and having to tell Marlow you lost a dime?”

  “What’s a dime?” I ask.

  Vin looks at me pointedly. “You remember what I told you about currency?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Breanne is a dime. A tenner.”

  “What, like ten dollars?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you serious?!” I cry, feeling massively insulted on Breanne’s behalf. “That’s insane. She’s beautiful.”

  “Not really.” Nats says evenly. “She’s pretty, sure, but that’s not all that matters. Personality plays a big part and she’s sweet but she’s not much else.”