by David Wong
Andre nodded to the wall to his left and said, “Oughta have that framed.”
He was referring to a six-foot-wide stretch of white butcher paper that had been thumbtacked to the wall, covered in doodles and notes in Zoey’s handwriting. Much of it was illegible, and one corner was obscured by a dried coffee stain. But in the middle was a clear to-do list under the scrawled heading “OPERATION Z-DAY.”
With virtually no explanation other than crude stick figure drawings next to each, the list went:
• TACO STORM?
• FAKE ALIEN INVASION? NUCLEAR BOMB?
• ECHO HACKS AND/OR SEDUCES SOMETHING
• DEFACE THE FIRE AND ICE (DONGS?)
• CATS CATS CATS
• GET MOLECH BACK HERE (FART RAY?)
• WILL WORKS HIS MAGIC (LIKE IN “THE RINGMASTER”)
It was her initial notes from the hours-long planning session the night before the Solstice, Zoey sketching it out on her knees on the floor of the ballroom.
She grunted. “Somebody should have taken the Sharpie away from me.”
“What are you talkin’ about? Your part worked perfectly, it didn’t fall apart until we got to Will’s bit. Though all agree that my performance as Arthur Livingston’s voice was perfection itself.”
“We could have gotten everyone killed. None of it played out the way I pictured. It was like were trying to corral a rabid wolf that had wandered into a daycare. There was so much that could have gone wrong.”
Andre shrugged. “Eh, that’s par for the course. This was actually one of the smoothest operations we’ve ever had.”
They sat and watched basketball for a moment, while Zoey let that sink in.
She took a drink and said, “When we started, Will asked me what Molech’s weakness was, and that’s all I could think of. He was a diva. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t stand to lose, he couldn’t even appear to lose, not in front of a crowd. I figured a diva would rather die than be upstaged.”
“Like I said, should be framed for posterity.” Andre squinted at the screen. “I don’t understand, why is it a foul to stand in the lane for three seconds?”
“You really know nothing about basketball?”
“I know the general idea. They get points for putting the ball through the hoop, right?”
“Don’t mess with me, Andre, I’m on painkillers.”
“That’s usually the perfect time to mess with somebody. Anyway I’m more of a hockey man myself. I mean, the fouls don’t make any sense. Two dudes run into each other and half the time they call it on the guy with the ball and the other half of the time they call it the other way, there’s no rhyme or reason.”
“Yeah, I admit that one is random.”
There was a knock at the door and Wu let himself in, carrying a bouquet of Get Well lilies in what looked like an antique vase.
Zoey said, “Ooh, who are those from?”
Wu said, “They are from me. The flowers are to get well, the vase is an apology, for what I did to your car. I actually did not know it was so valuable, I picked the one that seemed most capable of speed. The explosion was, in retrospect, probably an excessive touch driven more by ego than practicality. I do succumb to a flair for the dramatic, from time to time. I believe your people had rubbed off on me.”
Zoey said, “Well, it looked awesome, I’d say it was worth it. So I never asked, did you jump out at the last second, or what?”
“Uh, no. That is actually not possible without putting yourself in a wheelchair. Early in the pursuit we got stalled in traffic, and I ducked out of the vehicle and continued operating it remotely, from a nearby café. That was the reason for the fiery finale—I wanted to delay the time it would take them to realize that the interior of the car contained only marshmallow.”
“Contained what?”
“Oh. Well, I needed to put something in the passenger seat so it would appear you were with me, if we were captured on camera. I had no time to construct an accurate analog of your body, of course, so I found one of the marshmallow snowmen that had been stored in the garage, and dressed it in your denim jacket.”
Zoey stared hard at Andre and said, “Do not say what you’re thinking right now.”
“You do not look like you’re made of marshmallow, Zoey.”
“Exactly. You’re employed another day.” She examined Wu’s gift and said, “That vase is beautiful.”
The room was full of flowers, and Zoey was trying to figure out the minimum amount of time that would be polite to let them stay before having them cleared out—she hated the smell, they reminded her of funerals. But the vase with Wu’s bouquet was cool—ancient-looking turquoise with threads of gold running through it.
Wu said, “They call it kintsugi. The pot is shattered, then carefully reassembled with a resin mixed with gold. It symbolizes how we must incorporate our wounds into who we are, rather than try to merely repair and forget them.”
“Wow. It’s really pretty. And it looks like a pain in the ass to do, trying to remember where all the shards go.”
“It wasn’t easy.”
There was another knock and Will Blackwater was at the door, carrying a small paper bag. It was like some announcement had gone out to have everyone converge in Zoey’s room.
Will said to Andre, “You know Zoey’s having to live off protein shakes because of her jaw, right? And you’re making her watch you eat a macburger in front of her?”
“She said it was okay!”
“Right. So just the four divorces for you, then?”
Carlton appeared behind Will at the door, apparently having rushed to the scene of a bunch of guests who all might potentially need something to eat or drink. The room was suddenly crowded, all of these people looming over Zoey. You try to watch one basketball game and suddenly your room turns into Grand Central Station. Somebody’s phone was ringing.
Wu sensed her discomfort, set down the vase and volunteered to go take up a post out in the hall. He assured Carlton that all was well, and guided him away.
It was Andre’s phone that had sounded, and Zoey caught that the floating display said “MELINDA.”
Andre stood. “I’ve, uh, got to take this. It’s a customer.”
“It’s my mom, I can see it on the display. I don’t want to talk about it. Go do whatever, you’re fired from watching basketball anyway.”
He exited, shuffling past Will, leaving the two of them alone.
Zoey let out a grunt of relief. “Too many people. I get that many people squeezing around me in a room and I feel like—”
“Like you can’t breathe?”
“Ugh. Exactly. I got a message from Echo saying her gift to me was that she wouldn’t bother me for the duration of my recovery. It’s the most thoughtful thing I’ve gotten so far.”
Will’s bandages were visible under his hat, and Zoey could see where they’d had to shave that whole side of his head to operate.
She asked, “When did you get out? Didn’t they have to put a metal plate in your head?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“Still, you had skull surgery and they let you out after a week?”
“I let myself out. No point in lying there on painkillers when I can be out getting work done, on painkillers. Speaking of which, are you supposed to be mixing yours with alcohol?”
“Whatever, Dad.”
“If I was your dad I’d be asking you to share. I heard back from the lawyer yesterday, the insurance company is going to fight you on the tower. They’re saying this doesn’t fall under the terrorism clause, they’re calling it vandalism. Oh, and tomorrow the League of Badass are having their ceremony at the White House. Where they’re being honored. For single-handedly saving the city.”
On the TV, the seven-foot-five center for the Denver Nuggets pulled up and took an improbable three-pointer from around half court. Nothing but net. Will groaned.
Zoey said, “What, are you a Bulls fan?”
“No
, I have money on the Nuggets. But I cringe when McClaren hits a three because—”
“Because now he’s going to take five more, and miss them all.”
“Right, he’s fooled himself into thinking he can make that shot.”
Zoey said, “Hot damn, have a seat. You’re now my basketball-watching partner.”
“I really can’t, I have work I need to—”
“You work for me, and I’m assigning you the task of watching a bunch of New Year’s basketball with me. I had Andre in that position but he failed miserably and was demoted to having sex with my mom.”
Will paused long enough to demonstrate he was trying to think of an excuse, and then relented and took Andre’s seat.
Zoey said, “I figured we’d be under martial law by now. Like the government would send in the army to make us all behave.”
“The government is more than happy to cover up the fact that their weapons systems are now useless in the face of arms you can buy off the street. There are about four different insurgencies in the world who’d love to know that.”
“I guess what I’m asking is … how long can Tabula Rasa be allowed to stay like this? The government isn’t going to let things stay crazypants here forever.”
“Well, there are thousands and thousands of wealthy political donors in this city telling them to keep their noses out—Tabula Rasa has a hundred and twenty billionaires, at last count. But no, they won’t let it stay lawless forever. A city full of thriving black markets means there’s a whole lot of taxes that aren’t being collected. Oh, nice defense, Raj.”
“He pouts when he doesn’t get the ball.” Zoey nodded toward Will’s brown paper bag. “What’s in the bag? Liquor?”
“Oh, right.” He dumped the contents of the bag into his hand—a green rubber mouse. “It’s an old cat toy. My wife used to have a cat. It has catnip inside it. I don’t have the cat any more but then I thought I remembered you had a cat of some kind.”
Zoey took it. The mouse smelled like new rubber, it was clearly just off the shelf. So Will had bought it, took it out of the package, put it in a different bag, and then claimed he had just found it, so she wouldn’t know he had made a special trip to buy her cat a toy. Zoey thought the best gift she could get Will was years of therapy.
Zoey dropped the mouse on the bed near where Stench Machine was curled up.
“Well, we’ll know right away. If he bats it away with his paw—yeah, like that. He hates it. Oh, he likes the bag though. And … now he has his head stuck in it. It’s a disaster. Anyway, that was very sweet of you. And it’s the thought that counts.”
“I can’t even imagine a world where that’s true.”
Will glanced at his watch.
Zoey sighed. “Why do you have to pretend like you don’t want to be here? You could have called to tell me about the insurance, or not even told me about it at all, because I clearly don’t care. Instead you made the trip all the way here. It’s okay. You can just say, ‘I wanted to check in and see how you were doing, Zoey, because I’m a human being and not an android.’”
That created an awkward pause, which Will broke by asking, “So how are you doing?”
“I’m agitated because you’re acting like sitting down and watching a basketball game with me is a chore on the level of cleaning out a sewer.”
Silence. They watched the game for a bit. McClaren chucked a three-pointer that missed the rim entirely.
Will said, “So what happens now? After you’re all healed up, I mean?”
“I think I’m going to go on vacation.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know, Will.”
“You’re not thinking about staying, are you? After everything that’s happened?”
“Didn’t you want me to stay?”
“Didn’t you not?”
“I don’t know. I’ve grown to like having my toilet talk to me. You think more supervillains are going to attack?”
“Even if not, I don’t think you know what you’re getting into. Just living this life. Up to now, you’ve spent your life trying to keep your little financial raft afloat. Patching holes, bailing out water. But once you get into a nice boat with a motor, and a bunch of passengers, there’s this terrifying moment where you look at the ocean around you and say, ‘Okay, so now where am I actually going?’ It’s a question most people can’t answer. They’re just … not up to it.”
“Wait, are you doing a reverse psychology thing on me?”
“Maybe I just want you to think I am.”
Zoey tried to puzzle through that, then said, “I’ll make you a little bet. If the home team wins the next game, I’ll turn over complete control of the company to you and the Suits. I’ll leave town and I’ll be out of your hair forever.”
“And if they lose?”
“I get to take a black Magic Marker, and draw whatever facial hair I want onto your face, and you’re not allowed to wash it off or cover it or anything else for thirty days. You can take control of a billion-dollar empire, but you have to risk looking foolish for a single month. Oh, and at noon on the last day of that month, you have to shove the marker up your butt. Then, with the marker wedged between your butt cheeks, you have to go down to the train station and write ‘Zoey is our queen’ on the floor. With your butt.”
Will shook his head and sighed. “You are Arthur Livingston’s daughter.”
“Oh, and just for that, you also have to permanently change your name to Fartt Dongman.”
“This game is about over, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Then it’s the Hawks versus the Celtics. You’ve got six more hours of basketball to watch, so settle in. This is your life now.”
“All right, hand me a beer.”
“Get it yourself, they’re in the minifridge down there. Here’s something that I’ve been thinking about, since I’ve been bedridden. I don’t know if you picked up on it, but Molech really didn’t seem all that smart to me.”
“There were subtle clues to that effect, yes.”
“So … I got to thinking about what you said about magic tricks, and how it’s all misdirection. Is it possible that Molech was the misdirection, for someone else? Somebody … behind the scenes, or whatever?”
Will, not showing any expression whatsoever, said, “Why, that would suggest, I don’t know, that there’s a bigger game being played here.”
Zoey said, “Well, now I have to stay. Oh, look! The cat’s playing with his mouse.”
Will sat back with a beer and said, “Well, there you go. Mission accomplished.”
AFTERWORD
If you want to read more from the guy who wrote this—me—check out my horror/adventure novel John Dies at the End and its sequel, This Book Is Full of Spiders: Seriously Dude, Don’t Touch It. At least one of those books has been made into a movie, available in whatever format movies are consumed in your era (I have no idea when you’re reading this, go stream it into your brain or whatever you people do now).
If you want to keep up with news of upcoming titles and other noteworthy things in my life, assuming the Internet still exists, I can be found at:
Johndiesattheend.com
or on Facebook at:
www.facebook.com/FuturisticViolence
and
www.facebook.com/JohnDiesattheEnd.TheNovel
Or you can read my humorous nonfiction essays at Cracked.com, where I am the executive editor as of the writing of this Afterword:
http://www.cracked.com/members/David+Wong/
Special thanks to my wife, my friends, and my coworkers at Cracked.com, all of whom were neglected for months at a time while I painstakingly squeezed out the 140,000 words of this tale. I want to thank Mack, for spending a year researching the uncontacted tribes of New Guinea, including a six-month stretch living among them to learn their strange customs. Sorry all of that stuff got cut from the book.
No one in this story is based on a real person, though some parts of Zoey’s personality
are based on a woman I used to work with who, like the protagonist, also indirectly caused several large buildings to be destroyed.
My next novel will be the third volume in the John Dies at the End series, and in fact may already exist, again depending on when you’re reading this. After that, maybe I’ll return to Zoey and the Suits in Tabula Ra$a. Or maybe we’ll all die next week. I do not know the future. I am just a man.
—David Wong aka Jason Pargin
January 2015
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID WONG is the pseudonym of Jason Pargin, New York Times bestselling author and executive editor of the hugely popular comedy site Cracked.com. His first book, John Dies at the End, lives forever as a cult classic movie directed by Don Coscarelli, and his second, This Book Is Full of Spiders, scares people on a daily basis. You can sign up for email updates here.
ALSO BY DAVID WONG
John Dies at the End
This Book Is Full of Spiders
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7