by M. D. Massey
“I’ve known Tony for years, ya know. He tell you that?”
I nodded.
“Yes indeed, Tony and I go way back. He rescued me from some punters, tried to make me respectable.” She paused and blew some hair out of her eyes. “It didn’t take.”
She produced a joint from somewhere, and I wondered how I’d missed that. I’d been taught to always watch people’s hands, because that’s where the danger was. She lit it and took a hit, and watched me through squinted eyes.
“Bet he didn’t tell you that he was the reason them punters found us.” I shook my head, which was getting heavy. “Yep, he led them straight to us. He’d crossed them over sumthin’ and got shot. Came to us for help, which we gave.
“And what we got in return was my mom and dad dead, and me stuck in a living hell for months, least till Tony found me.” She inhaled and held it, then continued speaking as she let the smoke out of her lungs. “Ah, but why am I rattling on? You don’t give a shit about me. I see how you are—fed, clean, healthy. Cain’t fool me none, girl, just with a little dirt under your nails.”
She looked me up and down as my eyelids started to droop, and I found that I couldn’t keep them open any longer. Nor did I really want to.
“You gettin’ tired, sugar? Well, just come on over to the couch and have a rest. Go on now, it’s alright—Cinnamon’s gotcha.” I was incredibly tired and my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I allowed Cinnamon to lead me over to the couch, and almost fell on my face when I plopped down on it.
The last thing I remember was Cinnamon looking down at me with her arms crossed, tapping her foot with a sly look in her eyes.
“Now, I wonder what those assholes at Filthy Pete’s will pay me for a pretty little thing like you?”
FIFTEEN
LIGHTNING
When I regained consciousness, I heard the sounds of conversation coming from the next room. Cinnamon had moved me to her bedroom, and I cringed at the thought that I was lying on top of the filth of countless men. Although I was pretty grossed out, I stayed still and pretended that I was still out cold while the fog faded from my brain.
Something we’d figured out soon after I started the serum treatments was that my body would get rid of any drug or poison very, very fast. It was a drag when I had a headache and wanted to take something for it, because the drug wouldn’t work as well and it wouldn’t last as long either. But at this moment, I was thankful that the effects of the serum had done their magic, because in a few more minutes I’d probably have been tied, gagged, and on my way to auction.
As I shook off the last of the cobwebs, I tuned into the conversation taking place outside the room.
“That’s bullshit, Stacy! She’s worth two times what you’re offering and then some. Why you always got to be an asshole about things?” Cinnamon sounded really hacked, and it looked like she was getting screwed over by the punters. Yeah, just wait till I get my hands on you. Then you’ll really have something to be hacked about.
A man’s voice replied. “Well, I gotta make a profit too, you know. Besides, once Skull sees that this is the girl they’re lookin’ for, I’ll get a lot more for her, and I’ll kick some back to you. But ain’t no way you want to go traipsin’ up to Skull demanding to get paid. He’ll gut you like a fish and not think twice. Just let me handle it, and you’ll get what’s yours.”
Oh yes you will.
“Oh, alright. But I want part of my share now.”
The man named Stacy chortled. “Good ol’ Cinnamon, I can always count on you looking for your next high and next customer to blow.”
“Screw you, Stacy.”
“I might take you up on that, once I get back from talking to the wolves,” he said with a hateful tone in his voice. “Now, where’s that little bitch at?”
By this time I’d already checked my exits and knew that I’d have to go out the way I’d come in. The windows were stuck, and the only two doors in the place were in the other room. Cinnamon had taken my weapons, probably to sell them, so I improvised by grabbing a pair of barber’s scissors from her dresser. I laid back down on the bed and hid the scissors under my leg where I could get them quickly.
“She’s in here. I roofied her, so she’ll be out for a good long while.”
A second man grunted like a hog in heat. “Hmmm. Stacy, maybe we should have some fun before we take her to Skull.”
Stacy chuckled. “Well, I’m sure Cinnamon won’t care if we borrow her bedroom for a bit. Will you, Cinnamon?”
Cinnamon’s voice was flat. “So long as you pay me, I don’t give a damn what you do with her.” So much for Tony’s virtuous whore story. I didn’t give a damn what happened to her either, and at this point I was inclined to slit her throat with a dull knife and watch her bleed out. I thought wicked thoughts and slowed my breathing as they walked into the room.
The second man spoke first. “Aw, she’s a pretty one. Little on the small side, but she’ll do.”
“I go first,” Stacy replied.
“You just make sure you don’t hurt her, least not before we get paid,” was Cinnamon’s only comment.
I waited until Stacy had his hands on me before I moved, and stuck the scissors through his right eye, deep into his skull. They stuck there and I couldn’t pull them out, so I grabbed a skinning knife off his belt and threw it by the handle at his partner—a fat, greasy-looking guy with a matted black mullet that went down to his shoulders in the back. The blade hit him in the throat, blocking his windpipe. His hands immediately went up to his neck, possibly to pull out the knife.
Fat chance, tubby. I was already rolling off the bed as I landed a kick on his knee that buckled it backwards. He fell straight forward on his face, forcing the knife through his neck until it poked out the back. I left him there to choke on his own blood, standing up slowly and walking over to Cinnamon, who had backed against the wall.
“Don’t you come no closer, missy!” She produced a fillet knife from somewhere under her slip. I didn’t want to even think about where she’d been hiding it. She lunged at me and cut. I dropped and spun, sweeping her legs out from under her so she fell flat on her back. I heard the “woof” of air coming out of her mouth as she hit, and the sound of her head bouncing off the shag carpet. Aw, that looked like it hurt. Good.
I kicked the knife out of her hand and knelt down next to her, grabbing a fistful of hair as I did so. She blinked a few times as she tried to gulp in air. I pulled her head back and up, exposing her windpipe so I could drop an elbow on her throat and end her miserable existence.
Then I thought about what Tony told me about her, and that gave me a momentary lapse of ruthlessness. Sure, she was a worthless excuse for a human being. Yeah, she’d just tried to sell me to the local pimp. And no doubt about it; she didn’t care about anything except where her next high was coming from.
But after what she’d told me about Tony being the reason those punters attacked her family… well, that made me feel sorry for her, if only a little. The truth was, I sometimes felt like Tony had screwed my life up too. He was family and I loved him, but he was also ruthless and cruel and a pain in the ass to live with. And since he’d found me, I never had a chance at anything close to a normal life, not with him training me to be a cold-blooded killer.
So how was I any different from Cinnamon?
As I considered what to do with her, my thoughts were interrupted by a loud commotion from outside the trailer. I tuned my hearing into it and determined that it came from the front entrance of the camp. As I paused to listen, Cinnamon’s eyes rolled about wildly as she clawed at my arm and face. She was bigger than me, but I was still stronger, so no amount of struggling was going to free her. It wasn’t just the serum; it was also the fact that she was a malnourished crank-head. Meanwhile, the commotion from the other side of the camp got louder. I heard a sound that chilled me.
The howl of a wolf.
With no time to spare, I slammed her h
ead down on the floor once, then again. Her eyes rolled back as she slipped into unconsciousness. For a moment I hoped I didn’t give her permanent brain damage, then I realized it wouldn’t be the worst thing that might to happen to her, now that the wolves had arrived.
“Looks like it’s your lucky day, Cinnamon,” I said to no one in particular. “You get to stay here and explain to the wolves how I escaped.”
I got up and rifled around until I found my things, then I slipped out the back door and into the night. I was over the fence and running in less than thirty seconds after I exited her back door. With any luck, I could get a head start on the wolves and be halfway to the Facility before Cinnamon woke up and they figured out what had happened.
SIXTEEN
ORIENT
I ran for most of the night, although I never heard any sounds of pursuit behind me. Still, I thought it was best to put as much distance between me and the wolves as possible. The only problem was that I had run helter-skelter from the camp, and now I was a little lost. I was also tired, not just from running and a lack of sleep, but also from the after-effects of whatever Cinnamon had slipped me. Whatever it was must have been strong, because I had a major headache and my limbs still felt a little heavy.
I hid myself in a small, thick grove of cedar and tried to decide what to do. I figured that I’d covered at least ten miles since leaving the punter camp. That was slower than my usual pace, but I’d been trying to avoid leaving a clear trail for the wolves to follow. At least I was far enough away from the Pack to be safe, for a while.
I yawned and my head nodded as I leaned against a tree trunk, sipping from my water bottle. The early light of dawn was peeking through the trees to the east, and I felt tired and hungry. I decided to look for a place to hide so I could get some sleep, find my bearings, and continue the journey home.
I decided to head east, since that would take me closer to the Facility. I hadn’t crossed the highway in my rush to escape, so I wasn’t completely lost—just a little turned around. Before long I came to a small neighborhood of run down single-story houses that all looked pretty much the same. I avoided the local deader population and snuck inside the first one that looked secure. The previous owner had installed bars on the windows and doors, so it looked like my best bet. I picked the locks on the back door and made as little sound as possible as I entered.
Inside, the place smelled like it had been shut up for a while: musty and stale. I was in a small kitchen with cheap laminated counters and a white tile floor, practically a carbon copy of dozens of similar homes I’d been in while scavving. I listened for any sound of movement and heard a soft bumping noise from one of the rooms. It was probably a deader that had gotten locked in after it turned. Or one that someone had locked in because they didn’t have the guts to kill it. Either way, I needed to put it down now, because as soon as it heard me it’d start making an awful racket.
I crept down the hall with my crossbow in hand, pausing in front of the door where the noise came from. The steady insistent banging made the cheap bedroom door vibrate slightly with each bump. I waited for the pause between the bumps, then swung the door outward with my crossbow pointed at head level.
That is, head level for an adult. But what was waiting for me on the other side of the door was a child who’d been turned, no more than ten or eleven years old at most. She could’ve been a younger version of me—a sister or cousin perhaps. The deader girl was slightly built, with willowy arms and legs that met a long, graceful torso. She might once have had delicate features, but now her face and skin was dried up and drawn tight, and her lips were pulled back from her teeth in a permanent grin that reminded me of a bad guy from some superhero movie before the War. Long dark hair framed her face, and her eyes were glazed over and clouded white. She practically fell on top of me before I had even moved.
I guess I froze a little at the sight of her. It just wasn’t what I had expected. At that range, she pawed at me before I could readjust my aim, and I found myself hitting her in the head with the grip of the crossbow while I backpedaled until my shoulder blades hit the drywall behind me with a thud. The crossbow fired as I hit and the bolt stuck in the ceiling, but the girl was still grabbing at me, clawing her way up my arms and bringing her hungry mouth closer to my face with every second.
I came to my senses and threw the crossbow down while keeping her away from my face with a hand shoved into her throat. The feel of her dried out skin under my fingers gave me the heebie-jeebies, and I felt momentary nausea as I pulled out my Kabar. I swung the knife around in a large circle, around to the side where I had some space for movement. The arc of the blade ended as it pierced her skull below the ear, and she crumpled like a rag doll at my feet.
I braced myself on my knees, then turned my head and vomited bile all over the floor. I retched a few more times, then wiped my mouth on my sleeve and caught my breath. I looked down at the girl, then knelt and pulled my knife out of her head. I noticed she was wearing a Harry Potter shirt and Bedazzled jeans. Just some poor kid who had had the bad luck to get bit. It could’ve easily been me, if not for Uncle Tony.
I gently picked up her body and carried her back into the room in front of me. The walls were covered in pop star posters and more Harry Potter stuff. There were toy animals everywhere, and several were scattered all over the bed. I laid her there in the center of them and spent a few moments arranging them carefully around her. I didn’t really know why I was doing it, except that I might have thought that in death she would find a small bit of the comfort she’d lost in life.
After I was done, I closed the door quietly and cleared the rest of the house. It was empty, so whoever had looked after the girl before she’d been bitten had probably abandoned her here. Not that I blamed them, but it made me miss Uncle Tony even more. Whether I missed his company, or just the way I always felt safe and secure in his presence, I couldn’t say. But I sure wished he was here with me now.
I felt a rumble in my stomach and decided to search the house for something to eat. I found potted meat and stale, but edible, unopened cereal in the pantry, and spent a few moments getting some calories in me before completely crashing from exhaustion. The potted meat was gross, but a safe bet; that stuff never went bad because it had enough salt in it to kill a horse. And the cereal had more preservatives than a deader corpse. Neither one was going to make me sick, and even if they did, the serum would make it a minor annoyance at best.
While I ate, I looked around the place and remembered bits of my former life. Life before the War had been so much simpler. Wake up and eat a breakfast that was not too different from the meal I ate now. Head off to catch the bus, and spend the day learning stuff and hanging out with my friends. Watch some cartoons after school, and wait for Mom and Dad to come home. Eat dinner at a table just like this one.
I rubbed the smooth wood of the table’s surface, remembering what it was like living with my parents. The last time we’d had a normal day, I’d been seven. It had been fall, and still warm outside. We’d planned to take a trip to visit my grandma in the Valley that weekend, and I remember packing my things and looking forward to the trip.
That night, the bombs fell on San Antonio and Austin, and our lives were flipped upside down. We took off for a ranch that my dad had hunted on for years, and we stayed there until the dead started showing up. Then we headed to a refugee camp, where my dad thought we’d be safe.
He had been wrong.
I pushed my memories aside, and thought about what I’d need to do to get through the next few hours. First, sleep, then I’d need to figure out where I was. I went back to one of the unoccupied bedrooms to do exactly that. Not wanting the sleep in the open, I pulled a pillow and a comforter under the bed with me and cried a few silent tears before fading off to sleep.
SEVENTEEN
LIGHT
Later that day, a loud bang from the kitchen woke me up from a deep sleep. I had my hand on my pistol and was sli
ding out from under the bed before I’d even identified the sound. As my mind caught up with my reactions, I realized that it was the sound of a can of beans or soup falling off a counter. I heard whispering coming from the kitchen, and froze in place to identify how many people I might be fighting to get out of the house.
A young girl’s voice was the first to break the silence. “Raleigh! Be quiet, already. Sheesh. How many times do I have to tell you to be quiet when we’re scavving supplies?”
“Aw, heck, Violet—ain’t no deaders in here. If there was, we’d have already heard them.” It was a boy’s voice, not yet past puberty.
“Duh! I know that, stupid. But what if there are punters around? This place has been shut up tight every time we’ve checked it, so someone had to have unlocked that door. Besides, the deaders outside can hear pretty good. You want them waiting for us when we leave?”
The boy released a frustrated sigh. “Why you always have to be on my case, Vi?”
“Stop changing the subject. I’m always on your case because you’re my stupid little brother, and I don’t want to have to explain to Dad why you got eaten by a deader. Now, c’mon—let’s pack this haul up and get it back to the house.”
“Alright. But let me check the back rooms to see if there’s anything worth taking.”
“Gah! You and your toys,” the girl named Violet replied. “Go ahead, but don’t take long.”
I ducked back under the bed, and waited while Raleigh rifled through the other rooms. I almost bolted for the front door, but was worried that the girl might spook. There was no telling what weapons they carried or who they might tell about me. After my run-in with the punters at Cinnamon’s place, I wasn’t in the mood to risk getting shot or ratted out. I waited quietly and hoped that the boy wouldn’t find me.
I heard him enter the girl’s room. “Ugh, gross,” he exclaimed. “Nothing but girl stuff. Moving on,” he muttered. Soon he was inside the room with me, opening drawers and rummaging through the closet.