I take in the general chaos. Probably isn’t helpful for getting over the cancer.
This current mess outed my sister in the biggest way. Even though she showed a little bit of it before we blinked to bot land, it might have caused more confusion than confirmation. Now, with everyone’s hands missing and shit, the confirmation is there.
And with it, experimentation. The parents made us aware of the Graysheets back in the day. The Helix Complex might still have supporters or morphed into some other weird religion of control.
After all, the Randoms can't fall back on “recruitment” at this point. Yeah, that ain't gonna fly.
The SPs who were gung ho to figure out my parents have moved back.
Way back.
I smirk.
Back to Dee. Her lip trembles. “I'm keeping him,” she says.
I scrub my face. Fucking perfect. “I'm turfing this to you, Dad.”
Gramps barks out a laugh, shaking his head.
Failing to see the humor on this one.
“Deegan,” Dad begins, “Mitch is not a pet.”
“I'm aware, I can speak for myself.” Mitch glowers at Dad.
I feel the death flex on Dad before he enunciates the last syllable.
It sloughs off Mitch like water off a duck's back.
Interesting. And not in a good way.
Bugs, worms and dead birds revive themselves inside the lawn, rising to the surface with Dad just thinking about calling the dead.
The green grass crawls as if alive.
“God! Grodie!” Sophie screams, leaping onto Jonesy. He grunts as he accepts her weight.
“Damn, baby. You pack on some weight?”
Seawater eyes like laser beams cut a swath through Jonesy.
Jonesy backpedals smoothly. “All in the right places, baby—all in the right places.”
The SPs and Randoms cram up into the staircase, avoiding the undulating grass.
The AFTD Random doesn't. He strolls over, keeping a wide berth of Dee.
Smart.
The bugs part like the Red Sea.
He's the only fast learner in the bunch. He points at Dee. “I don't know what you are—but whatever it is, can't be allowed to live.”
Gramps moves in front of Dee and the AFTD just smirks. “Don't think it, old man.”
That’s where he’s got some shit wrong. Gramps isn’t a thinker; he’s a doer.
Gramps clocks him in the jaw. The AFTD checks the swing, twisting Gramps’ arm, then wrenches it out of the socket.
Holy fuck, he’s a Body, too.
Gramps drops soundlessly to his knees.
Rage envelops me head to toe. Chokes me.
Dad and I move together.
He wags the finger on the hand that drops from Grampsʼ fist. Gramps pants at my feet, managing the pain.
The AFTD smiles. “We're expertly trained in combat.”
“Combat this, ruffian,” Clyde says with quiet dignity.
He swings a pink flamingo into the back of the AFTD's head and he falls like a felled tree. Bright pink paint flakes off on his dark hair, mixing with the blood from his split scalp.
The hit breaks the bird's neck, and Clyde tosses it on the ground.
“Damn, man! You're wrecking the hood,” Jonesy grumbles behind them.
We ignore him.
Gramps smirks, though it appears as a grimace. He gazes up at Clyde. “Thanks.”
Clyde inclines his head. “Do not mention it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Deegan
I grab both of Mitchell's hands but he shakes his head, putting me behind him.
It's an overly protective gesture. He-man type.
There’s been a gap in men feeling inclined to protect women. Then women stopped being born.
Children stopped being.
Without women, there won’t be babies. In my era, with the exception of horrible Brad Thomson, we’re prized.
That’s why it’s so cool Mitchell behaves as he does.
He’s not from my era but before. A time when women weren’t rare. They were just here, like statues to be admired.
Women are real, living beings, not walking stone.
Mitchell doesn’t take my presence for granted, and it squeezes my heart.
He glances down at me then faces the men in my family. “I think we need to save how you guys feel about me for a time when there aren’t twenty cops here.” He raises his eyebrows.
It’s pretty amazing Mitchell doesn’t freak around brand-new technology. He just thinks.
Dad, Pax and poor Gramps give him the combined weight of their stare then look at the fallen AFTD.
They let his comment stand.
“He will rouse eventually,” Uncle Clyde says with a casual shoulder lift. Bobbi stands beside him, her arm looped through his.
“Nice swing, lover.”
Clyde's ears turn a touch pink at the top. “Thank you, dear.”
“Bet you could've knocked his block off,” Gramps says to Clyde, struggling to stand.
“Why yes, I was showing restraint.” A glint of humor perks his hazel eyes and I smile.
Pax grabs Grampsʼ good arm and hauls him up.
Gram says in a low voice, “Pops, you're too old to be putting the moves on those thugs.”
I look over at the jerks. Their blank faces tell me reinforcements are a sure thing. I get a panicky flutter in my belly.
Gramps gives Gram a critical glance. “You let me worry about who I’ll put moves on, Peanut.”
Gram purses her lips into a flat line, giving his hanging arm a significant look of look where that got you. Gramps looks too, grunting in irritation.
He glances sideways at my brother. “Listen, Pax. Things are going to get exciting here in a sec. Can you fix me up?”
“Allow me,” Clyde says, stepping forward.
Their eyes meet, and I hold my breath.
“Ah, gall dammit. This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?”
Clyde nods solemnly. “It shall.”
Gramps sighs. “All right, make it quick.”
Pax comes around to the same side. “Just look at me, Gramps.”
Gramps waves his good hand. “I’m not some candy ass.” He glances at Clyde then away. “Let ʼer rip, Clyde.”
With a twist and jam, Clyde moves the shoulder into place.
Gramps whistles in a sharp breath. “Goddamn that stings like a bitch!” he shouts.
His gaze moves to mine, and he blinks. “Sorry, ladies.”
I smile behind my hand. “It's okay, Gramps.”
Pax moves in. “I keep fixing all these war wounds, Gramps.” He places his hands on the re-socketed arm.
“Yeah.” Gramps digs around for cigarettes, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Keeps ya out of trouble.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s working too well, Pops,” Gram murmurs.
“Feeling better, Peanut?” he asks around the butt of his cig.
She smiles. It’s radiant, her skin no longer taut and gray.
“I am.” Her blue eyes water. Many things she’s feeling swim in her gaze. Ali Hart says what she can. “I love you, Pop.”
Gramps turns away.
His voice carries just fine, though.
“Me too, Peanut.”
*
Caleb
“Give me that—shit!” Tiff glares at Jones, missing the neck of the whiskey bottle by a centimeter. “I need something to take the edge off.”
Jonesy shakes his head with a snort. “You, my fine chick, are not having a drop of my booze. That’s final.”
Tiff smokes the Jonester with her stare.
The venom dodges Jonesy’s radar. Hell, most things do. A lot of the gang has outgrown childish things. However, out of all of us, Jonesy retains the essence of childhood, the thing that motors us as individuals.
He’s never lost it. The Jonester is fearless as himself.
“I did a great job in that effed up world full of robot
clowns.” Tiff folds her arms in a huff.
“Pfft!” Jonesy jerks his jaw back. “Well good for you, darlinʼ.” He narrows his eyes. “What do ya want, a medal, or a chest to pin it on?”
“Touché, Jones,” Gramps trumpets in the background.
Tiff snaps her gaze to Gramps.
“Don't get saucy, Aunt Tiff,” Paxton says. “We all know you brought the shit to bot land.”
Mom sniffs in the background, and I smile at my kid’s profanity. Mom is feeling better.
“Bot land?” Sophie says.
Paxton shrugs. “You have a better name?”
Sophie shudders. “It’ll do—gawd, that place gave me a case of the creeps that’ll bring in the New Year.”
“It wasn’t too bad,” Mom says quietly, gaze cast at the floor. Dad looks at us all, his arm around her shoulders.
Quiet reigns. If it hadn’t been for the bot world, Pax blinking, and all the weird help coming and going, Mom would be dead.
We’d be at her funeral instead of Grampsʼ house, arguing about booze.
“I’m sorry, Ali,” Sophie starts in a contrite voice. “I didn’t mean…”
Mom raises a palm. “I know. I just can’t help but notice I have a new lease on life. It’s in the forefront of all my thought processes.” Her clear blue gaze looks out over everyone.
I sigh. Truth time. “We don’t have much time to formulate some kind of plan.” I scan the faces in the room: my kids and Deegan’s zombie, Mitch. Jade.
Most of the old gang, minus the Sims.
Clyde and Roberta.
Everyone's here.
Jade takes my hand. Though her eyes tighten with all that I’m feeling, she keeps ahold of her own emotions.
I announce, “They know about Deegan now.”
My daughter’s face seeks mine, and I don’t look away.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Fat tears roll down her cheeks. “I know I’m not supposed to.”
Her shame is terrible to bear. We’ve done this to our daughter, made her hate a small part of herself she didn’t ask to be.
I move to my girl, this beautiful child I made with Jade, too smart for words. The apple of my damned eye. A sweet girl who didn’t ask for the curse of AFTD, or the larger one of controlling the very space we call our own. I hug her to me, pressing her head underneath my chin.
“We’ll get through this, Deegan.” I stroke her hair.
Deegan’s hands fist my shirt, and her size strikes me. She fits against me just like her mom, and I despair I’m not enough to protect my family.
Just enough.
Manhood means stepping up to the plate when your side might lose no matter how good you play.
The team moves into a huddle as tight as any I’ve ever been in.
I’m at the core, and they hold me up.
We’re in the ninth inning, and I’m at bat.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Mac
I hold my palms up, my shoulder giving a little twinge. Dammit. I'll have to get the bum thing looked at. Not that there's a shitload of time, given the current SNAFU.
“Listen, gang.” I tap an inch-long ash inside my fireplace, crossing my legs as I sit on the eight-foot brick hearth. “We’re just a bunch of chess pieces again. We had our little respite. We all understood it was a matter of time before a new group wanted to control folks again.” I shrug. “It’s the way that particular ball bounces.”
I take a long drag and peer through the veil of my smoke. I catch my daughter’s disapproving eye and grin.
God, it’s good to have her back, the sassafras.
“We managed to high tail it out of Jonesy’s place while the Randoms and Handlesses were adjusting their nuts—or not, as the case may be.” I shrug, giving a small laugh at the image. Nimrods.
Deedie starts crying.
Damn.
“No, hun, don’t go carrying on. Those fools couldn’t find their asses with both hands.” I chuckle. It’s too rich for words. I can’t stop the jokes about the hands. Somehow, Deedie’s sloppiness is a hoot.
Bring on the comedy, I say. Sometimes it’s all we have in this life.
Caleb rolls his eyes, gripping Deedie closer. The big lug next to her looks like he means me harm. Hmm.
I tap another ash, the flue carrying most the smoke outside to pollute happily. Thank God for my card.
“Anyway, they’ll be here soon.”
I spread my hands, looking at Caleb and Jade. “You kids”—I point my non-smoking hand at them—“need to come up with something. Fast.”
“That’s it, Gramps.” Caleb shrugs. “I’m out of ideas. We’ve averted the main disaster. We got the kids out of the cyborg world…”
“Artificial Life Bot,” Deedie says with a sniffle and hand swipe. Her murderous zombie looks on.
I study him. He bears watching. Don’t want to be on the business end of his wrath.
Caleb nods. His nervousness blows up in a hair rake. My eyes linger on his shorn scalp. He plants his hands on his hips again. “Listen—Mom’s alive.”
“Thank Christ,” I mutter.
Caleb’s gaze flicks to mine then away. “And the whole thing is worth that.”
Many yeses sound around the room. Nobody disputes my Ali living another day.
“But Deegan did what she had to do when her family was threatened. And we’ve broken so many laws…”
Voices erupt in defense, and Caleb puts up a hand for silence. “It was through no fault of our own. This entire thing comes back to the new Graysheets.”
Caleb says what we’re all thinking. What we’ve been circling around.
Silence fills the space in my living room.
“It’s not been an easy path. My kids suffered because the HC made sure there were no paranormals of consequence.” He lifts his gaze to the group. “Children were erased and are just now being born again. A whole generation wiped. The Randoms who remain want to recruit those few kids who show enough paranormal talent to catch notice.”
“Same song, second verse,” Kyle says, and Ali nods.
“Yeah, guys,” Caleb says in a tired voice.
“I don’t want to go with anyone.” Deedie’s lip trembles.
Clyde walks into the center of the room, bringing his quiet strength. “No one will take Deegan while I breathe.”
Bobbi giggles. “Technically…”
Clyde turns to her, grabbing her around the neck with an arm and reeling her in. “Quiet, Minx.”
“But you’re…”
He places a fingertip to her lips, kissing her temple.
“Dead,” he finishes, smiling. “I am quite aware.”
I smile. Clyde is a relative I’m happy to claim. Though we haven’t examined our ties too closely, I’m glad they exist.
“So what?” Jonesy spins in the center of the room. “Is this like Custer’s Last Stand?”
I bark out a laugh, my can of crushed cigarettes an anchor in the middle of the fireplace. I pluck another cigarette out of my shirt pocket and light it with a flick of my butane lighter.
The click is loud in the space of his words.
“I'm not sure what else to do,” Caleb says.
“They'll bring every force on earth, every Null, everything,” Kyle comments quietly.
“They don't have enough Nulls to deal with us all,” Pax says with the pure arrogance of youth. Must be nice.
I snort.
He looks at me with a glare. Time for a little discipline.
“Thanks, Pax. For blinking us to and fro,” I wave my palm around and smoke follows my hand in an air trail. “That was terrific. And for saving your Gram.”
My gaze narrows at him.
“However, you ill-mannered fart, I do expect I know a tad more than you, so listen up.”
He folds his arms, pissed but silent.
“If you AFTDs,” I look around to encompass Tiff Weller, sober for the moment, though Jones was a typical rock with lips and had booze in the escape
car. I shake my head in wonder. He’s as consistent as the sun rising.
My gaze finds my grandkid and great-grandkid. “Let’s preempt their obvious plans of—whatever. Kidnap…”
“Recruitment,” Pax says in a sour voice, clearly still stinging from my reprimand. Caleb’s soft. Pax would have gotten my hand on his ass plenty more.
“Anyway,” I say, giving him another hard glance, “you guys get out there and raise the Skopamish, birds out of the trees—hell, raise those horrible neighbors that wouldn’t stop complaining about my security measures.”
I think about their dumb bickering asses.
“On second thought, never mind. I hated those chumps when they were alive, and I don’t think I can stand looking at them even after they’re dead.” I get a visual of Phyllis and Ken and chuckle.
Nobody else does.
Humorless bunch today.
“Gramps is right,” Caleb says.
I roll my eyes. Of course I am. Let’s get the soldiers of the dead in place, and then the Nulls have to concede defeat.
The hot ember of my cig flares red when I take a final drag. I turn it in my hand like a joint and put it out in the sand can in the fireplace. “We raise everything we can now. Give them the command to protect, before the Randoms and SPs show, then we can figure out a game plan.”
“We're just running,” Bry says, throwing up his hands and letting them slap on his thighs.
His wife, Mia, nods. “It’s like it was back when we were kids. Like a fire, we’d put one out and then another one would flare.”
“Speaking of that… Dad.” Pax spreads his arms. “How about burning the med clinic down and torching a bunch of zombies?”
“Yeah, that was painful,” Mitch admits.
Two color dots appear on Caleb’s cheeks. I’m amused. Usually Caleb is Mister Death. In this case, he’d been Mister Misaligned Fire. I cough into my hand, and Caleb narrows his eyes at me. He’s definitely on to my amusement.
He clears his throat. “I—well, I haven’t had a second to say anything, but I had pyro on cyborg world and no AFTD.”
Jade smiles. “I’m a five-point Empath there.”
Death 07 - For the Love of Death Page 18