by Louisa Lo
“I already told you. I’ll carry you out if I have to,” Day warned.
“And risk me screaming at the top of my lungs all the way to the getaway truck and alert the mob?” Chelsea snorted.
“I could knock you out,” Day offered.
“No, you won’t,” she said with confidence. Or at least what she projected as confidence. “You want to help these people.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Chelsea closed her eyes briefly and opened them again. Here goes the military crash course training I thought I would never need.
“Number one, you mentioned ODAs, which stands for Operational Detachment Alpha. That’s Special Forces, right? A-Team is comprised of twelve members. There are only three of you here. Even if you’d done the Split Team, there should still be six of you. Number two, after that last encounter with the Obsessed, two of you had switched from M4s to Glocks. Why would you use handguns, which are generally your secondary weapons, when you could use assault rifles in these dire circumstances? The only explanation I could think of is that you’re already out of magazines. Number three, the way Sonny was holding his carbine before? He was favoring his left side too much. So you’ve been hurt, you’ve lost people, and you’re low on ammo. How am I doing so far?”
Day, Nik, Sonny, and Ruiz looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. Day cleared his throat, the pain that flared in his eyes when she speculated about the casualties on his team told her that she’d hit the mark, “Alright, so how does the fact that we’re tired and hurt and low on ammo make us want to stay here instead of heading back to base as we’re ordered to?”
“Because you’ve lost too many people today,” she said softly, “and you don’t want another two hundred to die just to trade for some stupid bimbo’s life.”
He couldn’t abandon the civilians to their fate any more than she could. She just knew it. But one of the things her military crash course had taught her was that the soldiers couldn’t openly disobey a direct order.
So she made it easier for them.
One of her exes had claimed that she was darned good at throwing hissy fits. She admitted, she’d acted like the spoiled brat a few times in her life. Smashing a vase here, tossing a phone there, all distractions to hide from the pressures of life.
She was pretty good with distractions, and she would use that talent now.
She yanked the pouch that contained the metal chopsticks off her jeans and threw it at Day’s face, then she kicked a bunch of boxes toward Nik. She wasn’t too worried about Sonny, since he was the closest to the outdoor exit, and furthest away from her.
She turned and got ready to shove Ruiz out of the way, if need be, in order to get back to the front of the store. But he jumped out of her way, so all she had to do was open the unlocked door and sprint out, then she was among the crowd again.
For once, she didn’t mind having everyone’s eyes on her.
The boxes and the chopstick pouch only served to delay the soldiers for a few seconds. Had it not been for the element of surprise and Ruiz’s unexpected lack of resistance, she wouldn’t even have gotten past them, but it was enough.
By the time Day, Nik, and Sonny came out of the storage room, Chelsea was standing in the center of the tiny grocery store with challenge in her eyes.
Go ahead and try to drag me out of here, kicking and screaming. Make a scene and see if you won’t have a riot on your hands.
A grudging admiration shone from Day’s eyes as he came close to her and said in a low voice. “Just for the record, this is completely against my advice.”
“Noted.” Chelsea smiled.
He handed her the chopstick pouch back, rubbing his forehead ruefully with the other hand. Remembering what happened to Judith when Chelsea took aim at her friend, thank heaven she hadn’t thrown it too hard. Those metal chopsticks had some good weight to them.
Chelsea accepted the pouch. “Thank you.”
They both knew she was referring to more than the return of her only weapon.
Of course, if he had really wanted to he could have found a way to make her leave without attracting any attention. But deep down he didn’t want to, and she was banking on that.
Sure, she would take the blame for this later. But taking the blame for stuff was kind of her thing. It might as well be for something that was right and just.
Day turned and glared at Ruiz, who was taking his sweet time making his way to them, “Some help you were.”
Ruiz shrugged. “Hey, I’m no longer in the military. Those ain’t my orders.”
The former soldier then told Chelsea, “And kid, I wouldn’t call you a stupid bimbo. Not by a long shot.”
Chapter Seven
Smoke and Mirrors
It was the longest two hours in Chelsea’s life.
First order of business was Day calling his superior to explain the, uh, difficulty in getting Lady Spence to the base. Day spoke in a low voice, and she couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but judging from the tenseness of his shoulders Chelsea could guess it didn’t go too smoothly. She squashed down her guilt in possibly getting him into trouble, and focused on what they stood to gain—a better chance of survival for Emma and everyone else.
Nik and Sonny took up patrol on either side of the building, while Ruiz focused on the back door once again. That left Day and Chelsea at the front. Since she’d had no firearms training, she couldn’t pick up a handgun even if Day had a spare one to share. So she went back to holding onto her stainless steel chopsticks. It was a rather pathetic weapon, but it was better than nothing.
For the first hour the crowd stayed up with them. They might not have known what was actually said in the storage room, but they had sensed the tension in the air and they were fully aware that the Obsessed might be nearby. Nobody wanted to fall asleep lest they got surprised by another attack.
But as the night went on and the initial adrenaline started to die down, people crashed hard. Human beings simply weren’t built to be on high alert constantly, and something had to give. It began with a few people nodding off, a relaxed shoulder here and there. Then like a domino effect, the sitting civilians started leaning toward the floor, slumping onto the person next to them and having the next person slumped over them.
Chelsea dared not sleep. She was the one who had asked the soldiers to risk their lives by staying behind. Because of that she wanted to make sure to not endanger them any further, by being ready to help organize the civilians’ getaway quickly if the need arose.
With the sounds of snoring rising like a discordant chorus all around them, Day said quietly, “You’re not the girl I thought you were.”
Startled more by the fact that he was speaking to her after over an hour of silence, rather than by the statement itself, Chelsea asked, “Really?”
“I have to admit, I wasn’t very impressed with you before I met you,” he replied.
“Why?” she asked, frowning.
“Because my little sister loves you.” Day’s gaze seemed far away. “She idolizes you. She cuts out magazine pictures of you and plasters them all over her bedroom. Trying to buy the knock-off version of every dress you’ve been photographed in, spending every penny of her allowance rather than saving it up for important stuff like I did when I was her age. She’s always driving my dad crazy with weird fashion ideas.”
The truth was, Chelsea had had her days of dressing conservatively, and her days of experimentation. The press, however, had a knack for catching her whenever she was at her most outrageous. Guess there truly was a demand for shots like that, as evidenced by Day’s sister.
“What about now?” Chelsea asked curiously, “What do you make of me now that you’ve met me?”
“Less unimpressed, definitely.” His sensuous lips curved up. “But really, can you stay away from those ridiculous furry key chains?”
“What, the Fendi red pom pom keychain? What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re giganti
c and dreadful looking.”
“Don’t worry, I stopped putting them on my handbags when I realized they used real fox fur.”
“Yeah, so you mentioned once to the press. That’s why my sister started making her own. She’s been over-brushing the family cat just to collect enough raw material.”
Despite his complaint, a wealth of affection infused Day’s tone when he mentioned his sister. But entwined in that love was an underlying edge of worry.
“Where is your sister now?” she asked softly.
A pause.
“I don’t know.” Frustration filled Day’s tone as he rubbed his palm over his face. “She lives with my parents in the Tampa Bay area. Last I heard, she was going out shopping tonight. I just hope she’s not at a place where the Pretties happen to be.”
And here was Chelsea, delaying him from finding out what might have happened to his sister, on top of everything else. She didn’t even realize the price she was asking of him. He had reasons to be way more anxious about his kin that she had for hers.
Chelsea lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is the rumor really true? This is happening on a large scale?”
“Yes,” Day confirmed. “It was random, sudden, and widespread.”
“Gods,” Chelsea breathed. Twenty-four hours ago, she would not have even believed that the Obsessed were real. Then something occurred to her. “I was at the Mall of Britannia and there was some sort of explosion. Do you know what happened?”
“From what I know, the Pretties went berserk over so many shiny things concentrated in one area and started chewing everything in sight. Looks like they chomped through a few gas lines.”
So there were gas explosions, just as she had suspected.
“And this just happened out of the blue, all at the same time? I mean, even in those zombie movies—and I’m not saying they’re zombies for sure—they have to bite someone, get them infected so they would bite other people, so on and so on, until more and more people get infected, right?” she puzzled. Then she thought about what Day had said about the injury suffered by Emma’s Mom. “But you said it’s not contagious.”
“Not as far as we can tell, no.” He shook his head, “It’s almost as if whatever it is that made them turn, it’s already implanted in their body and was just waiting to be activated. Hell, maybe we all have it within us already.”
Well, that was a scary thought. Chelsea remembered Judith, who was on the phone with her less than an hour before she became a slavering monster who was ready to hurt a little girl over a shoe. A single shoe, at that. During that chat, she sounded perfectly…Judith, with no hint or warning that something might be wrong. “So we’re all walking around like sleeper agents? Ticking time bombs?”
Her gaze swept over the crowd slumbering in close quarters with her. Could one of them simply wake up and start wanting material things?
“That’s the other reason I told everyone to get rid of their valuables. The Pretties might be closer than they think.”
Chelsea shuddered, the cold coming from deep within her.
Alright, I’m definitely not going to sleep. Maybe not ever.
That was her last thought before she collapsed into Day’s arms, finally succumbing to her exhaustion. Oh, well, there was only so long fear could keep a girl awake.
***
Chelsea was having high tea with her father in the dining room of the luxury hotel he was staying at in downtown Minneapolis. He had wrapped up the business of his visit and could now enjoy some family time with her before jetting back to London. Being one of the only trained scientists amongst his peers, her dad enjoyed his research far more than politics and social functions, but his title and position meant there were duties that were unavoidable.
“Daddy, you have to try the cucumber sandwiches here. They’re out of this world.” Chelsea smiled as the server placed a couple of three-tiered stands on their table. Each tier held a delicate white China plate with an assortment of culinary delights on it. There were lemon bars, raspberry jam scones, mini éclairs, egg custard tarts, and finger sandwiches including smoked salmon, chicken salad, along with the highly recommended cucumber.
“Georgie, you know how I feel about cucumbers.” Her dad made a face. In public, Earl Bartholomew Spence, the fourth person in his family to bear the exact same name and title, was always reserved. Only with Chelsea would he let his guard down. Well, whenever he wasn’t in Father mode—which was whenever Chelsea wasn’t in trouble. He could be tough and stern when it came to her shenanigans, but there was no doubting his boundless love for her.
The earl was in his mid-50s, with a wild shock of curly white hair that was almost obligatory for any mad scientist, tempered by the portly figure of a dignified lord. Chelsea’s heart swelled just from looking at her father’s beloved face, yet she felt a sadness as well, though she had no idea where it came from.
“Sorry, just checking to see if you still hated cucumbers. You never know. Try the egg custard tart then. Your favorite.” Chelsea pointed at the tart in question. “I made sure to check that they came from free-range chickens.”
Her dad, as focused as he was with his research, would sometimes forget to eat when he was close to a breakthrough. So ever since an early age, Chelsea had taken it upon herself to make sure that he ate right—even if it meant trying to push food he didn’t care for every now and then.
Her dad put the egg custard tart to his mouth, and bit into it with sounds of appreciation. Chelsea reached for her stand, about to offer him the tart’s twin on her own plate, but there it was again, that sense of sadness and loss.
She stared at the pastries in the stands, an array of food that was too sweet and creamy to eat on a daily basis. Food that was too frivolous, too much of a luxury.
Food that was from a period in her life that would never be again.
***
“Wake up.” Someone was shaking her shoulders. “Wake up, now!”
Chelsea swam back to consciousness in leisure. She had all the time in the world. They never hurried the patrons along during a high tea. They were encouraged to stay for as long as they liked. Maybe she would order some Merlot to wash down those smoked salmon sandwiches…
“Wake up, damn you.” Someone was shaking her hard now, which got Chelsea rather annoyed. Day had better not make her spill her wine…
Yes, Day. That was Day’s voice calling her.
Day, the military guy she met while escaping from monsters.
Wait, monsters?
Chelsea woke up with a start. She blinked her eyes several times as reality rushed back to her.
Her illfated trip to the Mall of Britannia. Judith’s death by her hands. Emma’s frightened face.
Had her traumatized mind created that dream of rainbows and unicorns and cupcakes as a defense mechanism against so much darkness?
She shook the last of the cobwebs from her brain. “I’m sorry—what’s going on?”
Day’s jaw hardened. “We have company.”
Taking Day’s offered hand, Chelsea got up quickly. As she did, she realized there was one thing that hadn’t registered in her mind before, but had no doubt been there even during her nap.
The chanting of “Pretty Barbie”.
Over three dozen Obsessed were surrounding the grocery store, pacing back and forth, carrying various remnants of civilization on them. A few of them even dragged their treasures around in dirty pillowcases. From what was visible, she saw the metal handle of a purse, a lady’s cocktail glove, and the now-staple expensive shoes, amongst many other things.
But that wasn’t all. Chelsea also noticed curling irons, portable electric shavers, hair dye, an ear-piercing gun, tweezers, and eyelash curlers. They were things that weren’t exactly brand name, but could make the ultimate makeover from Hell. Was she paranoid, or even arrogant, to think they sought out all those items just for her? And if that was true, then they weren’t just the simple-minded monsters she thought they were.
They se
nt out a wild cheer at the sight of her, waving whatever they had in the air. To Chelsea’s ears it sounded more like the battle cry before an army laid claim to a piece of land, with that piece of land being her.
Nik and Sonny were right outside the front door with their handguns trained on the Obsessed, though it didn’t take a military genius to figure out that they had neither the ammunition nor the manpower to stop the wave of Obsessed if they chose to attack.
“They’re calling for you.” The eyes of Emma’s Mom narrowed, then glinted with calculation. “Maybe, err, you should go see what they want.”
“No, Mama,” Emma protested. “If Chelsea goes out there, they’re going to kill her.”
Day put his arms around Chelsea. As her heart raced and her stomach dropped, she welcomed his show of support. Ruiz came to her other side, his rugged presence comforting her.
“Hush, girl,” Emma’s Mom hissed. “If she doesn’t go out there, they’ll be coming in here.”
So Emma’s Mom intended to make a sacrifice out of Chelsea. From the look of it, quite a few people in the crowd had the same idea. But they looked at Day and Ruiz, then glanced at Day’s M4, and apparently thought better of grabbing her and forcing her in front of the monsters outright.
Chelsea was under no illusion that if push came to shove, the mob mentality might kick in, and just the threat of the soldiers’ weapons would not be enough to control the mass hysteria.
Great, that was the thanks she got for sticking up for these people.
But not all of them were like that, and even those who thought about doing it were only tempted because they were under duress.