Zoey Punches the Future in the Dick

by David Wong

  Zoey steeled herself and walked casually toward the approaching young man who was dressed like a cruel caricature of her, on a path to intercept him but acting like she hadn’t seen him yet. She felt her heart knocking on her sternum.

  She strode directly toward the kid, nearly bumped into him, and in her most shrill, drunk-girl voice said, “OH. MY. GOD!”

  She made a big show of looking the kid’s costume up and down.

  “You’ve even brought a real cat!” Zoey grabbed Wu’s furry sleeve. “Dana, look!”

  The kid looked at Zoey, the recognition dawning on his face. Not that he was recognizing Zoey, but that he was recognizing her costume. As Zoey.

  Specifically, she was dressed as Torture Victim Zoey Ashe. Echo’s latex and makeup made her face look bloodied and beaten, her features swollen beyond recognition. She wore a cheap wig that vaguely mimicked a previous hairstyle, complete with blue streaks framing her face. She wore padding to exaggerate her figure and had loops of twisted, bloody wire around her neck and each wrist, as if she’d been bound up by a psychopath. Wu, meanwhile, was dressed in a cheap cat costume with white fur. Its markings had been quickly spray-painted to mimic Stench Machine’s, a black blotch down his face and chest.

  The genius in Echo’s costume design was that Zoey was utterly unrecognizable under the costume of herself. Her eye color had been changed with a blue dye applied with drops that would look natural even under a microscope. Her actual breasts were taped down (well, kind of) underneath an uneven, lumpy, overstuffed bra. Her actual missing canine was replaced by a prosthetic tooth Echo had glued into the gap, then two random healthy teeth had been crudely painted black. Under the bad Zoey wig, strands of blond leaked out. Her shoes added two inches to her height. Under the pale Zoey makeup were hints of a fake tan, the skin tone of half the girls in the city. She looked like a different, prettier woman trying to make herself comically ugly.

  The kid unenthusiastically said, “Cool.”

  “I had a friend do the wound makeup! She has a 3D printer in her house! I have to split the ten thousand with her if I win. The cat costume is rented, but we painted it, do you think we’ll have to pay for it?”

  “I … don’t know.”

  The young man was incredibly uncomfortable with the conversation and seemed like he wanted nothing more than for it to be over.

  In Zoey’s ear, Echo said, “Sixty seconds out. Separate him from his detail as much as you can.”

  Zoey, in her drunk girl voice, said, “I’m getting all of the Zoeys together for a picture! We’ve got four so far. Come on!”

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him along. He muttered some weak objection and glanced back at his security as he slowly walked with her.

  Zoey leaned in close to his ear and said, “Who are those guys? Are they in costume or are they, like, actual gunmen?”

  The kid said, “Uh … they’re with me. I’m actually not supposed to—”

  “They’re with you? Are you famous or something? Come on, one picture and we’ll all get drinks!”

  Zoey pulled him along a little faster, making a show of casting a playful look back at the kid’s escorts, like she was making a girlish game of running away from them, inviting him to break the rules. The kid sped up to a trot to keep up with her, but glanced back nervously.

  “Hey … I’m not supposed to run. I just had—hey…”

  She kept urging him along, to limited success. Three of the guards were jogging to close the gap, bumping through partygoers in offensive costumes, talking into their own radios, relaying instructions. Wu ran alongside Zoey, but his role was to ensure her safety. He would not, he made it clear, actively participate in an abduction.

  Zoey said, “How long now?”

  The kid turned as if to ask who she was talking to just as Echo answered in her ear. “Thirty seconds. Get him away from those guards.”

  Zoey looked back at the kid and said, “Hey, why don’t you have your goons wait here while we—”

  The kid dropped the cat carrier.

  Zoey heard a yelp and scratching from inside.

  The kid had to stop and retrieve it. He seemed to be breathing hard, like this little bit of exertion had been too much. That gave three members of his security detail time to catch up. One of them pointed a gun at Zoey. Another pointed a gun at Wu.

  The first one said, “I need to see some ID.”

  The kid said, “It’s fine. We’re going to go take a pic—”

  “SHOW ME ID, NOW.”

  The wind picked up, blowing around trash and dead leaves, whipping fake wig hair into Zoey’s eyes. There was a noise from above, the sound of the air being battered to death by twin rotors. Everyone looked up. Zoey’s rented stealth helicopter had arrived.

  Dangling from cables below the aircraft was an object much larger than the helicopter itself, hidden under a tarp that was flapping and snapping in the breeze. The object was lowered slowly to the ground, the helicopter setting it down in a spot in between Zoey and the row of vehicles from which the kid and his entourage had emerged. The cargo, the size of a house, hit the grass and the helicopter detached the cable and flew away. The tarp fell to the ground, revealing Zoey’s Halloween costume, the one that Santa’s Workshop had been grinding away at for more than three weeks. It stood on four huge, pink legs. The crowd gasped and hooted and laughed. The guards started shouting commands at each other.

  Like all good costumes, this one required a fair amount of explaining to the uninitiated, which of course made it that much more impressive to the initiated. The design was based on a popular anime series called Our Hero Reo, which was about a little girl named Naoko and the tiny toy cat she keeps in her pocket. Thanks to a series of accidents involving magic and time travel, the toy cat had the ability to transform into a gigantic, destructive mecha-cat named Reo. The central joke of the series was that the giant cat was actually not useful for combating the many colorful, monstrous enemies that plagued that universe’s Tokyo, because even as an enormous mecha-kitty, Reo only wanted to cuddle and make people happy (Zoey figured that last bit was either part of the fantasy, or cats were much different in Japan). So, about once an episode, this giant robotic cat would go bounding around, wreaking havoc, demanding pets from friend and foe alike while puking up colorful gifts and farting pink clouds of floating hearts. The whole time, an exasperated Naoko would be frantically chasing after it, trying and failing to coax Reo into actually assisting their mission in some way. Zoey had always identified with Naoko, for some reason.

  Zoey’s Halloween costume, which was supposed to have made its debut at tomorrow’s party to the delight of all of the kids in attendance, included a twenty-foot-tall mech made to look like it was part Reo and part Stench Machine. It had all of the pink-and-white highlights of the cartoon character, with the coffee-stain colorings of Zoey’s missing cat around its chest and chin, plus his spiked collar. Zoey herself was to be dressed like Naoko (that is, a twenty-fifth-century schoolgirl) and would have controlled Stench Reo by remote. Echo was operating him at the moment.

  From the mouth of the giant cat robot came a booming, altered version of Zoey’s recorded voice, loud enough to shake the ground.

  “MEOW! WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN IS NOT MY FAULT!”

  That was a Reo catchphrase, but the Vanguard of Peace guards apparently weren’t fans of the show. They opened fire with their ribbon guns, the weapons’ bundle of six tiny barrels spraying holes into the torso of the cat-shaped mech. This had no effect whatsoever.

  Stench Reo was not of course designed to be outfitted with real weapons, it was only rigged to do a few Reo-esque tricks and phrases to impress the kids. However, if the yellow-jacketed guards looked closely, they would note that a bulky rifle had been hastily duct taped to its chin. The cat took a few long strides toward the row of parked VOP armored vehicles and fired said rifle, launching a barrage of glowing projectiles the size of beer cans. Each landed on the hood of one of the VOP trucks with a cl
unk.

  Fearing a series of explosions, both guards and bystanders quickly backed away. Instead, each canister began sparking at the base, then emitting smoke. The projectiles each cut their way through the armored hoods of the vehicles, spraying the engine compartments with a shower of thermite. A puddle of molten metal and plastic oozed out from around the front tires, like the vehicles were soiling themselves. Zoey was pretty far away from the action, but even from there the fumes were strong enough to burn her eyes.

  The VOP guards went nuts. Their means of evacuation now disabled, the men rapidly tried to coordinate with each other, ready to hustle their ward out of the crowd and into some backup vehicle. The three gunmen were closing in on Zoey and the kid now, five more heading their way.

  The cat, with its butt still facing Zoey’s direction, crouched down and raised its haunches into the air, just like Reo in the cartoon. A compartment opened up, revealing a circular array of barrels aimed upward.

  The booming electronic Zoey voice said, “MEOW! OH NO! HERE IT COMES!”

  Zoey ran over and grabbed the thoroughly bewildered kid and, trying to stay in character, said, “Oh my god, that thing is going to attack us! Let’s go!”

  She tugged at him and he sort of followed.

  Behind them, Zoey heard one of the guards say, “Hey! Stay in sight!”

  The mecha cat said, “HOLD YOUR NOSE!” and from the barrels were farted dozens of canisters that landed on the lawn all around them. Upon impact, each spewed a thick pink cloud of smoke, belched forth in a series of heart shapes which then expanded and overlapped, reducing the visibility to zero. It smelled of strawberries, just like the cartoon cat’s farts were said to. The children, Zoey thought, would have gone wild for this part.

  Zoey grabbed the kid, made sure he still had a grip on the cat carrier, and said, “IT’S POISON! GET AWAY FROM IT! DON’T BREATHE! LOOK, A GUY BACK THERE JUST DIED! THIS WAY!”

  She pulled him along and this time he followed without protest. The smoke was not poison, of course, but it did have a strong scent and to a scared and confused young mind, it’d be easy to think it was getting harder to breathe, even if it was really the panic doing that.

  Zoey actually got lost in the smoke for a moment but was able to track Wu’s white furry shape ahead, hoping he was heading in the direction of fresh air. As the smoke got thinner, that only encouraged the kid to run more, until he was leading the way, swinging the cat carrier around in a careless manner that infuriated Zoey.

  The three of them stumbled into the clear and were immediately staring down the barrel of another gun.

  It was a guard in full Vanguard of Peace riot gear—gas mask, yellow chest plates. Then there was a buzz and a large black-and-yellow drone lowered itself to aim an additional pair of barrels at Zoey.

  From the drone came an electronic voice that said, “STOP OR WE WILL USE DEADLY FORCE. LAY FLAT ON THE GROUND.”

  Zoey’s chest was heaving, her hands on her hips. The kid looked so winded that he seemed on the verge of passing out. She looked back at the roiling pink cloud of smoke, knowing the rest of the VOP team were back there, seconds away.

  The kid said, “It’s okay! We’re okay!”

  “GET DOWN OR WE WILL SHOOT. YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS.”

  Wu did it first, keeping his costume paws raised, quickly going flat. Zoey followed suit, now hearing men shouting from behind her. Behind the guard and drone, another VOP vehicle rolled to a stop, having plowed its way through decorations and food stands to intercept them. The rear door popped open. The guard yanked the kid over and pressed a gas mask to his face.

  “WE’VE GOT YOU. BREATHE NORMALLY.” The guard, presumably into a radio, said, “WE’VE SECURED HIM, EVACUATING NOW.”

  While the drone kept its weapons pointed down at Zoey, the guard shoved the kid—and the cat carrier—into the back of the vehicle.

  The guard then returned and said, “ON YOUR FEET. BOTH OF YOU. YOU HAVE BEEN DEEMED A THREAT TO OUR CLIENT AND BY LAW AND VANGUARD OF PEACE POLICY, WE ARE DETAINING YOU. MOVE!”

  Zoey stumbled to her feet and the guard roughly yanked her along, dragging her and shoving her into the vehicle with the kid. Wu climbed in and the guard slammed the door.

  28

  The foot soldiers of the Vanguard of Peace were not, for the most part, morons. Or at least they weren’t morons about being foot soldiers. As such, they tended to know where their vehicles were at any given moment and what they were doing. They also tended to notice if a vehicle was one of theirs and not, say, a rented yellow moving van with the sunny VOP logo hastily attached to the side. They further would notice if another guard was equipped with officially issued gear, or if they were wearing an improvised uniform and carrying a wildly unofficial railgun.

  The young man in the Zoey costume in the back of the vehicle could not have been expected to notice these differences, not in the middle of a heart-pounding escape from what must have seemed like a nerve gas attack from an oddly whimsical terrorist. The eight pursuing guards, however, emerged from the pink smoke and knew exactly what had occurred: their ward had been abducted into a strange vehicle and, for all they knew, was already dead.

  Inside the van, Zoey peered out the rear window and saw several guards rushing toward them, screaming orders.

  “Guys! We need to move!”

  Their own yellow-jacketed guard climbed into the passenger seat, turned, and said to the kid, “Let me see your hands.”

  He did, and was confused to see they were suddenly in handcuffs. The guard ripped off the helmet to reveal Echo’s face.

  Trying to sound intimidating, she said, “These are pacification cuffs. If they detect you struggling, you’ll get a shock. If you run, you’ll get a shock so hard that it will paralyze you for the next half hour. Just sit still and we won’t hurt you.”

  The kid said, “Wha—who are you?”

  Zoey said, “Damn it! They’re already here! All of them.”

  Wu pulled off his cat costume head, his hair matted with sweat. He peered out the window, but didn’t need his fancy threat-assessment glasses to tell him the obvious. “We didn’t get enough separation from the guards.”

  “What do we do? Guys?”

  From the driver’s seat, Will said, “Hang on.”

  He hit the accelerator, but while the rear wheels were still spinning in the grass, the two nearest guards fired their weapons, aiming low. The impact shook the vehicle and the van sank several inches on one side. Smoke drifted up past the windows, as if the wheels were being melted from under them. The electric engine whined, but with half the wheels disabled, the van only skidded around in a sad, wobbly donut.

  Will muttered a curse.

  The rest of the guards quickly encircled them. Wu unzipped the cat costume and peeled it off using his one good arm. Underneath were black fatigues and a vest that he had told Zoey could stop most bullets. She probably should have asked for one of those. He checked the projectile bracelet on his wrist, probably counting his shots.

  Outside, two of the guards fired again, taking out the other two wheels. For the third time in two days, Zoey was trapped in a completely immobile metal box and surrounded by enemies. That was the kind of thing that used to almost never happen to her.

  Will punched away at controls and, almost sounding calm, said, “Buy us more time. I don’t care how.”

  Echo brought up her phone. “What else can the, uh, cat do?”

  Zoey watched the ring of guards close around them and said, “Uh, not much? Hit the last button. The puke thing.”

  Echo tapped her phone.

  A pair of guards approached the rear doors, tested to see if they were locked. They were. Same with the side door. Instructions were shouted back and forth and they jogged away, presumably to get equipment to cut their way in.

  The nearest guard shouted, “Exit the vehicle with your hands in the air and lie flat on the ground! Leave all weapons behind. If we have to enter the vehicle, we can and will use
lethal force. This is your final warning and your final opportunity to end this without bloodshed.”

  Zoey looked nervously back at Will. “Should we … say something?”

  He glanced into the side mirror. “Looks like they’re about to get their answer.”

  Moments later, Stench Reo came bounding through the pink smoke.

  The guards turned to face the giant cat-bot and shot at it some more. It was now so full of holes that it would probably whistle when the wind blew. The cat opened its mechanical mouth.

  Zoey’s electronic voice said, “OH NO! I HOPE THIS ISN’T AN EXPENSIVE RUG! BLECH!”

  Five hundred small plastic tubes came flying out, like a spray of vomit.

  “MEOW! PLEASE GIVE YOUR MOMS THESE FREE TUBES OF CRAZY DAISY MOOD ENHANCING CREAM OR WHATEVER IT’S CALLED! THESE HAVE NOT BEEN TESTED BY THE FDA!”

  The guards fell back and took cover behind the van, presumably thinking the tubes would explode or something. But no, they were just skin cream, that, at the moment, seemed to be doing nothing to enhance anyone’s mood.

  The hostage watched all this happen from inside, eyes wide. “Who are you people?”

  The VOP team spent several minutes analyzing the projectiles before deciding it was safe to refocus their attention on the van. The guard who’d left earlier returned with a small tool.

  Echo said, “We’ve got about thirty seconds before they cut their way in.” She pulled a blade out of her boot. Zoey had no weapons.

  The guy with the tool pressed it to the back door and there was a hiss and smoke. Blue light reflected off his faceplate.

  Zoey looked back to Will and said, “If we just toss the kid back out there…”

  “That won’t matter. Not now.”

  The noise from the cutting tool stopped. The guards approached in formation. They yelled their warning again, demanded they all surrender, lie down, take the peaceful way out.