by White, Ben
"And maybe you don't NEED to get scratched, you guys are making so many stupid damn assumptions—"
"V-Cut," said Trevor, warningly. "This is neither the time nor the place—"
"Shut it with your clichés, old man," V-Cut spat. He glanced at Imogen. "So what are we calling you? Pick a name."
"I'm ... I'm Imogen. What do you mean 'pick'?"
"He believes that we shouldn't know anything about each other," said the tall young man with the white and gold mask—Chris. He was leaning against the wall near the door, his weight partially upon a long black dress cane. "He feels that even knowing 'true names' may compromise resolve should one of us become 'infected'."
"That's why I'm V-Cut," said V-Cut. "That's all you gotta know about me. If I get bitten, I want one of you to put me down, no questions, no hesitation."
"If you get bitten," Null said, her voice flat, "it won't matter who knows your name."
The harlequin girl glanced at Null with amused eyes, then leaned forward to look at Imogen. "I'm Allecchina. It is not my real name but this is the end of the world, why not be who I want to be?"
"We're calling her Cheena," HK said. "Since Alle-whatever is so weird and difficult."
Cheena shrugged at this, apparently fine with the nickname, then she rose from the couch, taking up her staff as she did so, and walked over to Imogen's bed. Every movement she made was fluid and effortless, entrancing to watch. She looked down at Imogen; even from this close, it was difficult to tell whether her face was covered by makeup or a mask.
"You've been out there," she said. "Since this started, yes?" Her voice had the trace of an accent Imogen couldn't place. "I am searching for my sister. She has long brown hair, but this is a wig. Underneath her hair would be short and black. Her face is the kindest you have seen, and she would have been wearing a schoolgirl's uniform in blue and white. She talks. A lot. Have you met her?"
Imogen stared up at Cheena.
"Well?"
Imogen swallowed, her mouth dry, and slowly shook her head. Cheena tutted and turned away.
"Hey, if you wanna find her you should be out there—"
"She will be escaping," Cheena said, without looking at HK. She walked to the desk and looked at the monitors. "Probably she is already on the streets, heading for our home. As I should be doing—as we all should be doing."
"Acting rashly isn't going to do anything but get us all killed," said Trevor, looking back at her. "First we'll figure out the best way out of here—"
"You have been staring at those screens for hours now," said Cheena. "What more can you learn? Too many cameras were destroyed by the winds, what you see is nothing."
"We've learnt a lot, actually," said V-Cut. "We know that the main entrance is lousy with Z's. It's not even an option. We know that the entire first floor is packed with them, and the second isn't much better. For some reason there are dozens in the parking garage, and all the emergency stairways are blocked—"
"We haven't tried all of them," said Jen, as she emerged from the door beside the couch—bathroom, Imogen thought, as Jen glanced at her with a smile. "Some might—"
"No, they're blocked on purpose," V-Cut said. "Someone wanted us trapped in here."
"This again?" said HK. "I'm sure there's a more likely explanation than that. Why would someone wanna trap—"
"And why would the dead start rising? Why would that wind come blasting through? This isn't coincidence, people don't just turn into zombies for no damned reason, there is something BEHIND all of this—"
"Whether there is or not, does it matter?" Null asked. "We're presented with certain facts. The emergency exits all appear to be locked. How this state of being came to be is irrelevant. Thinking beyond what is happening here and now is irrelevant. Talking of anything but what we might do to escape—"
"Is irrelevant~" Chris sang. "You say that so often, I wonder what your basis for comparison is? But allow me to be serious. In my considered opinion staying here is pointless procrastination. Thanks to the lovely-yet-crippled Imogen our stomachs are full and we have supplies to last us through the night—or at least as long as it takes to escape this miserable building—"
"About that," Trevor said, turning in his seat to look at Imogen. "And I'm sorry to interrupt you, Chris, but this is important. We helped ourselves to those bars you brought, and we thank you for sharing them. But I felt uncomfortable doing anything with those left over, there are enough for each of us to take two each, with three left over—"
"Just do whatever you want with them," Imogen said. "I don't care."
Trevor stared at her. "The bottled water, surely precious—"
"Oh! I had a thought about that," HK said. "Rock-Paper-Scissors! Let's have a tournament to decide—I absolutely INSIST on this."
"Imogen, you keep one," Trevor said. "The others we'll distribute by drawing straws. Fair?"
"Rock-Paper-Scissors would be more fun," said HK, more than a little sulkily. He held up the sword he'd been sharpening, checking it, then spoke to Jen: "Your sword's ready, I don't think it's going to get any sharper. I don't know how good it's going to be—"
"I'm sure it's better than it was," said Jen, taking it from him. "Thank you." She glanced at Imogen. "It's not real," she explained. "It's not even mine, it doesn't really go with this costume, but when everything was happening ... well, I just picked up whatever I could."
"See that sword?" HK said, putting on a heavy Australian accent. "Fake. Plastic." He looked around, hopeful, then clucked his tongue. "Why's it there, then?" he asked himself. "Charm!" he replied, exaggerating the word sharply. "Adds a bit of charm."
"If I might continue?" Chris asked. He waved an elegant hand at Trevor. "Unless you'd like to distribute the water now?"
"It can wait," said Trevor. "Go on, Christopher."
"Just Chris," Chris said, a little of the grace slipping from his voice. "Ahem. As I was saying, we have no concerns for food or water, we are all rested, and the sun is but a few scant hours away from setting. These 'zombies' do not need light. We do. Thus, it seems—oh, for goodness sake."
Chris had been interrupted by a beeping from the door, which slid open to reveal Keenan, still in his zombie costume. He was holding a bunch of metal poles, which he threw onto the floor in the empty part of the room.
"There's your damn weapons," he said. "And if I draw the short straw one more time I swear I'm gonna scream."
"Thank you, Keenan," Trevor said. "We all appreciate—"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Whatever, man. I'm gonna wash up."
"You did not see—"
"No I didn't see your damn sister, you want to find her, YOU go out there."
Keenan stomped through to the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.
"Well, wasn't he tense," said Chris. "If I may conclude—"
"You think we should head out now, yeah, it's pretty obvious where you were going with that," said V-Cut. Imogen pushed herself up as he talked—the mention of 'washing up' had made her aware of the state of her hands—they were splattered with dried zombie goo. Maybe I'm already infected just because of that, she thought. I have to wash this off. As the others continued talking about their plans, she went to get up off the bed—but Jen had noticed her sitting up and was now by her side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder to push her back down.
"Your brace," she said, as Imogen stared up at her. "It's not back on—neither are your boots. I'll help you with them."
Having someone else put her boots on was an odd experience, but in her current state Imogen wasn't really in a position to complain. Jen smiled at Imogen as she worked with the brace.
"I love your clothes," she said. "I meant to say before. This embroidery on your jacket, it's wonderful, and I'd kill for your boots." Jen's expression changed as she realised what she'd just said. "Sorry, I ... that wasn't ..."
Imogen said nothing, but tried a small smile. Apparently that was enough; Jen stopped trying to recover and focused once m
ore on the brace.
"There," she said, after half a minute. "That should be more comfortable. Null, could you check to see if Keenan is almost done? I think Imogen wants to get herself cleaned up."
"He's almost done." Null hadn't so much as glanced at the bathroom door. "In any case, I'm sure that he wouldn't mind sharing."
Jen shot Null a warning look, then smiled at Imogen again. "Do you need me to—"
"I can walk," Imogen said, pushing herself up and carefully lowering herself to the floor. Testing her injured foot, she found that the way Jen had put the brace back on was more comfortable—but she couldn't put any more weight on it than before. She'd held the vague hope that resting might have helped, but if anything it was more painful now.
She could still manage a limp, though, and as the conversation between the others threatened to become an argument she knocked on the bathroom door.
"Yeah, whatever."
She opened it and hobbled in—Keenan was using the toilet as a seat, the cover down, his expression clear.
"Oh, it's you," he said, not sounding entirely displeased. "I'll get out of here—"
"I'm just washing my hands," Imogen said, although the idea of a shower did appeal. "You don't have to move."
Keenan nodded. "Okay."
Imogen closed the door with a quiet 'click', blocking the rising argument from the main room, then went to the sink. There was soap and antibacterial handwash, and she used both as she scrubbed her hands thoroughly.
"Know exactly how you're feeling," Keenan said, after watching the almost frenzied way Imogen was washing her hands. "You have to touch one?"
Imogen nodded as she scrubbed her hands for the fourth time.
"It's just wrong, ain't it? The way their skin's all hot and loose, ugh."
There was a cabinet above the sink, with a mirror on the front. Imogen avoided her own gaze as she slid it open—inside was exactly what she was looking for.
"Yeah, got plenty of that spray stuff," Keenan said, as Imogen applied some to her cut hands—they weren't bleeding, but she felt that now was not the time to be exposing herself to any kind of infection. "Help yourself."
Imogen didn't reply. As she was waiting for the spray to dry, though, she half-turned to almost look at Keenan.
"That cabinet in the main room," she said. "It's locked?"
"Yeah, we don't got the key."
"There are probably weapons in it, if not guns then maybe batons or tasers."
"Figured that. But like I said, we ain't got the key and we can't get it open."
"You got the keycard from someone. Why didn't you take his keys as well?"
"Her keys," Keenan corrected. "And I already told you, that was the scariest shit I ever done. No way was I going through her pockets looking for keys—and, man, I didn't even know this cabinet was HERE when all that went down."
Imogen considered this and found it to be fair; she made no further comment.
Zack was awake when Imogen left the bathroom, sitting up and looking around with wide eyes at the roomful of arguing adults. Trevor, V-Cut and Chris were huddled together in a corner, their conversation low and intense—they all glanced up at Imogen's appearance, then went back to talking. Cheena, meanwhile, was arguing with HK, standing over him, Null behind her.
"—cannot believe your ideas, at this time, with all that is happening, can you not be serious? You will die if you do not accept this situation—"
"I accept it fine," HK said, mildly. "I think I'm handling it better than you, now that we're talking about things."
"Better?" Cheena let out a scoff as Imogen passed her, heading for Zack—Jen was beside him, her expression worried. "That is ridiculous. You are ridiculous. In what possible way could—"
Imogen let Cheena's voice fade away as she limped up to Jen and Zack.
"Maybe you can help me with something," Jen said, her voice bright. She held up a helmet and a long rounded tube. "This goes on my right arm, and this is obviously a helmet. On or off?"
"I think on!" said Zack. "You need all the protection you can get!"
"But the blaster means I can't use my right hand," said Jen. "And I can't hear very well with the helmet on, and it restricts my peripheral vision."
"What's periph—what's that?" Zack asked.
"To the sides."
"Oh."
"Imogen? What do you think?"
Imogen shrugged as she sat beside her brother. "Whatever you prefer."
"You only need one hand to use your sword," Zack said. "Are you left-handed?"
"Actually I am," Jen said. "So maybe use the blaster, lose the helmet?"
"Does the blaster actually fire?" Zack asked, wide-eyed. Jen laughed, then stopped herself.
"No," she said. "It doesn't do anything except glow."
Zack's eyes were still wide. "Could I see that?"
Jen smiled. She held the helmet out for Zack to take—he accepted it with a gravity of responsibility that made Imogen roll her eyes—then slid the blaster on. It clicked into place against the armour on her upper arm, just past her elbow.
"Whoa," Zack said, as Jen posed with the blaster and the front of it lit up blue. "That's the most awesome thing I've ever seen."
"Yeah, I know," Jen said, with another laugh—which again she cut off. "Um, so maybe I'll keep this on. I do feel safer like this."
"Man, I wish I had armour instead of these crappy pajamas." Zack glanced up at Jen. "Um, are you gonna wear the helmet too?"
"Yes," Jen said. "Yes, for now I will. Even if it's just to help cut out—" she indicated the arguing in the rest of the room with a tilt of her head, before pushing a few loose strands of hair inside her armour and putting on her helmet. Like the blaster, it clicked into place and was held firm. Jen's face, viewed through the green of the helmet's visor, looked pure and smooth.
"It gets a little stuffy, too," she said, her voice muffled. "But it's worth it."
"You look SUPER awesome with the helmet on," Zack said. "Like just totally wicked, and I mean I know you shouldn't really have a sword but—"
"Oh, right?" Jen said, her voice, although still muffled, more enthusiastic than before. "But I need SOMETHING, and I've cosplayed as characters who use swords a few times ... it feels kind of good to hold." She reached down to pick it up, doing a quick pose with the weapon—Imogen looked away, down at her hands, at the ring she wore on her right index finger.
Something odd about her, she thought, as Jen and Zack continued their chattering. Something she's not saying.
"—better do it now."
Imogen's head jerked up—she watched as Jen walked over to the bathroom, then looked down at her brother. He was watching Jen go with open adoration on his face.
"Um," Zack said, as he noticed Imogen's cold eyes upon him. "Do ... do you think Mum's okay? And Grandpa?"
In honesty Imogen couldn't say she'd even thought about them. She'd had more immediate concerns. Now that Zack brought it up, though—
"And, like, um ... like, I was thinking too, I mean, I don't know why, it's stupid, I just ... um ... Imogen?"
Imogen didn't respond. Her attention had been caught by something else, by the way Trevor and Chris and the others were talking, and by the glances they directed at her and Zack.
"Imogen, do you think Dad—"
Imogen wasn't listening to Zack; she was standing, limping towards the group on the other side of the room, ignoring the sharp look Cheena gave her and the cool, amused glance from Null, her eyes fixed on Trevor as he and the others looked around at her.
"You don't want us with you," she stated. Trevor cleared his throat, but then didn't seem to be able to think of anything to say. V-Cut did so for him:
"We're just talking. Gotta talk about stuff before—"
"Because of my leg. Because Zack's little and useless. You think we'd slow you down."
"We know you'd slow us down," Chris said, smoothly. "That's not in question. However, we were discussing whether or not we coul
d afford that. Personally I'm inclined to drag you along, if the worst came to the worst we could always just throw you to them as we made our escape. What's that old chestnut? I don't have to run faster than them, just faster than you? Similar concept here, methinks." He glanced around at the others and smirked. "Oh, come now, it's the end of the world! If one can't be honest at a time like this then I honestly don't see the point."
"The point of what?" Keenan snapped.
"Why, the point of anything."
"Hey, wait!"
It was HK who called out—Imogen was already at the door.
"Someone open this."
"It's that square button beside it," said Null, enduring sharp glances from HK and Keenan without reaction. Imogen pressed the button, and the door beeped as it slid open.
"Zack, bring my bag and my bat."
"Imogen—"
"Zack."
There was stillness in the room, then a light thud as Zack jumped off the bed, quickly scooping up Imogen's things and scurrying over to her. She took the bag and put it over her shoulder, then took the bat and held it tight in her right hand. Her left hand she used to take hold of Zack, hard around the wrist. He squirmed but made no sound.
Imogen glanced back, not looking specifically at anyone in the room, and she spoke, two words:
"Problem solved."
And then she limped out, dragging Zack along with her.
"Imogen, hey, you don't gotta—"
The door slid shut behind them, and Keenan's voice was cut off.
"We should've said goodbye," Zack muttered. "Especially to Jen. She's still in the toilet, she'll come out and—"
"Shut up, Zack." Imogen stopped and looked up and down the corridor, then jerked at her brother's arm as she kept moving.
"But—"
"Shut up, I said."