by Bella Street
Seffy headed back down the stairs, passed the bodies without looking, went through the kitchen, and exited the house. She went to Gareth's Saab and got in. The keys still hung from the ignition. Turning the key, she started the engine and put the car in gear.
***
“Oh, my God.” Trent eyes widened in horror as he looked around Seffy's living room. He covered his mouth with his fist, fighting a feeling of revulsion. As he forced himself under control, his mind registered the odd details; Gareth's head on a pillow, Addison and Lani under a blanket.
Seffy had been here.
He glanced at the prone man in black, who clutched a vial of blood.
And she'd apparently survived the experience.
“Sef? Are you here?”
Nothing.
He peeled the vial from the dead man's hands and looked around for a way to dispose of it. He didn't want to pour it down the sink in case there was some leftover infection in it, but he didn't just want to toss it in the trash where someone could get their hands on it. Trent headed to the kitchen and turned on the gas stove. He found a small sauté pan and dumped the blood into it, rinsing the vial a few times with water, and adding it into the quickly evaporating red sludge. When he was satisfied there was nothing usable left, he turned off the range and went in search of Seffy.
Trent walked woodenly from room to room, checking to see if she was hiding anywhere. He realized if Gareth was here, his car must be too. He checked out the front window. No Saab there or in the back. Could Seffy be heading to the tanning salon?
He looked at his watch. He was out of time. But the idea of leaving Seffy behind was untenable. If she was here at the house, she got away from the bad guys, she made it. She'll go to the rendezvous spot.
Please, God.
Trent paused to look at the bodies. The killers had succeeded in their quest. Every last one of their victims butchered. He gritted his teeth in impotent fury. He needed to know who this enemy was. And they needed to be stopped.
After committing the scene before him to memory, he turned and left the house.
***
Seffy shifted smoothly through the gears, absently taking the traffic patterns around her into account. The light turned red. She stepped on the brake. Sunlight streamed down from above, but glanced off the windshield as if unable to permeate the car. That was okay. It was too dark inside for any light to shine today anyway.
Up ahead, she saw a parking spot. An unheard of occurrence in downtown West Hollywood. She maneuvered the car into place and shut off the engine. Seffy listened to the engine ticking under the hood in counterpoint to the rhythm of her heart. After staring into the middle distance for a moment, she got out of the Saab, leaving the keys inside. Gareth wouldn't be needing the car anymore.
She walked down the sidewalk, joining the stream of shoppers and tourists too caught up in their own worlds to notice she didn't belong. No one noticed a young woman in a pink track suit and Seffy was careful to avoid eye contact with anyone. She had a purpose and that was to go to where her friends were. The alive ones anyway.
Her throat clogged up. She fought against the rising tsunami of grief. Must be calm. Must be focused. Clay said she was needed back in Montana, so back she would go. Hey, when dead people talked, she listened. Her steps faltered when she thought of Fenn.
The backpacks!
Oh no. She looked around her in bewilderment and registered that she was in front of the tanning salon. But what good would her return do without the medical supplies? And where was Trent?
Dead, of course. Just like the rest of them. She'd nearly forgotten that.
Seffy swallowed and stared unseeing at the neon lights in the window of the salon. This was pointless. If she did get back, Fenn would die anyway. Everyone kept dying when she was the one being chased and shot at the most. It didn't make sense. Her hand touched the bulk in her front pocket. If she died, would everyone else stop dying as well? She still had friends, in one universe anyway. Could she spare their lives?
“It's time.”
Seffy looked over and saw Clay. He looked awful in the afternoon light. Advanced cases of zombism didn't stand up so well to direct sunlight. “It won't help.”
“You need to go in.”
She bit her lip to stop the trembling. “I'm afraid.”
Clay looked at the door. Seffy reluctantly followed his gaze. She didn't think she could do it.
“Are you going in or not? God, some people.”
Seffy looked over to see a brittle blonde push past her and go inside. Clay was nowhere to be seen. Hauling in a deep breath, she shoved open the heavy glass door. The receptionist was busy with the rude blonde. Seffy looked around at the familiar space. She followed a familiar path to the back where the rooms were.
A series of numbered doors lined one wall. Her feet seemed to move of their own accord. She approached one of the doors, grabbed the knob, and twisted. It was unlocked. Seffy stepped inside the dim room and quietly closed the door behind her. After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the low light. A tanning bed, in use, took up most of the space. She saw a pile of clothes on a chair, next to a designer purse and a pair of espadrilles. She knew that purse. She knew those shoes. They belonged to Verity.
Seffy stood like a statue in the room. What was she supposed to do? She couldn't remember. She didn't even know what time it was. Was she too late?
The lid of the tanning bed opened and a woman sat up. They stared at each other for what felt like a lifetime.
“Sef?” Verity said in a strange tone. “What are you doing in here?”
“Um.” Seffy shook her head, unable to think clearly. Something was wrong with the picture, but she couldn't figure of what was wrong.
“Gimme a second to get dressed.”
Seffy looked away, listening to the rustle of clothing.
“Dammit.”
She turned back to see Verity's silhouette looking at the ground. “What?”
“I think I kicked over my drink. Flip the switch behind you.”
Seffy reached around, feeling the wall for a light switch and flicked it up. The room was suddenly bathed in light.
“Damn, I did kick it over! That was my last Diet Rock Star.”
Seffy saw the puddle rushing toward the frayed tanning bed cord.
“Where's that towel I just had?” Verity turned around to look for the towel and saw Seffy in full light for the first time. Her blue eyes grew wide. “What did you do to your hair?”
Seffy reached up and touched her short locks, trying to remember something very important. “Um.”
“I thought you were going to tan. Or did you already? No offense, but I'm not sure that pink suit goes with your new hair color. Pink and blonde, good. That color of brown...yeah, you might think about the black Juicy.” She grabbed her phone from her purse. “I can make a call. Or we could leave right now and go to the boutique. Seriously.”
Something about the slightly shrill quality to Verity's voice set off alarm bells in her head. “It's my natural color.”
“That's what we'll do. Just let me grab my stuff.” She reached for her purse. “And don't worry about your hair, hun. We all know Bruno can work miracles, so it's not the end of the world.”
Chapter Nineteen
This time when she landed, Seffy remained still and concentrated on breathing deep to counteract the fact that her lungs had deflated from the fall. Seffy didn't need to open her eyes to know the sky was pink. It was almost as if she could feel the difference. The air was heavier, more oppressive. And Montana had a smell all its own—more fresh and earthy compared to the preferable odors of perm solution, over-heated skin, and exhaust.
Seffy allowed her muscles to relax one by own into the warm sparkly sand. It was almost therapeutic. If she really used her imagination, she could believe she was in a spa. Lani's spa. Getting some kind of heat treatment. After a moment, she grew bored of her pathetic attempt to deal with the fact that she was stranded in t
he middle of a desert with no idea how to get back to the compound.
You know, you're taking the fact that you time-traveled through a wormhole pretty damn well. Seffy looked up at the pink sky. The magic words had worked. Again. Unbelievable. Was it the words themselves that held the magic, or was it the inherent irony in the phrase? Because either way she looked at her situation—her world had indeed ended.
My own private Apocalypse. Lucky me.
Seffy remembered a shocked look on Verity's face as she disappeared from view. That probably meant something, but at the moment, nothing came to mind.
It's time. Phantom Clay's last words. She knew what that meant. It was time to go back to the compound. She had to look into the faces of her friends. She had to see them alive.
Seffy struggled to a sitting position, finally opening her eyes. The same hilly scrub greeted her, interspersed with the same piles of rubble and small fires. Something pinched her back and she wondered briefly if there were scorpions in the Montana desert. She lifted her top and peeked down at her back. A brown-stained piece of padded gauze was hanging by one dirty strip of tape, exposing a wicked zigzag of stitches. Ouch.
She became aware of pain in her arm. Seffy unzipped her top enough to pull it down off her shoulder. Bloody, torn flesh stuck to the fabric, making her cringe. At least it looked like the bullet had only grazed her. Inspecting her wounds used up the last of her reserves, so she turned on her side and tucked her knees to her chest. Closing her eyes, she hummed a tune. When she realized it was from an 80s song, she began to cry. I just can't do this. I can't live like this.
Seffy remembered the gun in her pocket. She slowly pulled it out and looked at it. Somehow it seemed more menacing outside than in a house. How stupid was that? She glanced around her immediate area. No Clay anywhere to harsh her suicidal mellow. She tried to think of the best way to go about it. She knew if she did it wrong, she could end up in a wheelchair or brain-damaged. Since that was the apparent projection of her life anyhow, she wanted something more specific.
After some contemplation, Seffy didn't think she could pull the trigger on her own existence. Besides, if she waited a bit longer, someone or something would certainly step up to do the job for her. That would probably be easier on her friends—if she'd ended up in the right universe this time and had any friends.
A muffled oath and thud sounded somewhere nearby. Seffy painfully rolled over to investigate and saw a man in a black coat gasping for breath on his knees in the sand. He held a pistol in his hand.
She blinked in disbelief. “Oh, come on.”
His eyes narrowed when he saw her. He weakly raised his gun. Before his weapon was level, he flopped backward in the sand and was still.
Seffy lowered her own weapon and clambered to her feet. She walked over to the man and stared down at him in anger. “Can a person contemplating suicide have a few friggin' minutes to work through some things?” Kneeling next to him, she dropped her now useless gun and pried the one from the man's hand.
Suddenly her windpipe was crushed. It took her a second to realize the dude wasn't quite dead—and that he was really strong. Her legs gave way and she fell on top of him. As the pink light dimmed to purple, she managed to aim his gun and fire. Seffy gasped as his grip loosened from her throat. Rolling over, she sucked in air, only too late remembering she was supposed to let death come and get her; not shoot it in the head. She reached for his gun and inspected it. Empty.
Dammit!
Seffy turned onto her back, her breath furious, hot tears leaking from her eyes. “If there any leftover zombies out there, it's dinner time!” The heavy air hurt her throat. She decided to yell louder. “Yum yum! Fresh brains with a side of stringy flesh. Come and get it!”
She tilted her head and scanned her surroundings. The sun made water vapor shimmer in the sand. “Any aliens? Here's a subject to probe! You just gotta promise to kill me when you're done!” The faraway screech of a hawk was her only reply.
“Is anything out there? How about some cyborgs? Come on, you know you want me! Giant tarantulas? Irradiated scorpions?”
“Would you settle for sexual harassment?”
Seffy looked over to the side and saw a man's silhouette in the setting neon sun. She slowly sat up and shaded her eyes.
Trent.
When she saw him, she burst into tears. Trent dropped the backpacks and knelt down next to her, gathering her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on like a drowning victim. He pressed his cheek against her hair, unable to believe she was really here. Trent closed his eyes. Her sobs broke his heart. Seeing her friends murdered was something he knew she'd never forget.
After her tears subsided, she leaned against him, her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder. He couldn't think of a single thing to say, so he remained silent, wishing he could've spared her the horrors she'd endured.
“Are you a mirage?” she asked against his chest.
He leaned back slightly and looked down at her, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. “I was wondering if you were.”
She reached up and touched his face, her fingers trembling. “You feel real. And that bruise on your face looks pretty convincing.”
Her gaze was sad and beyond weary. Trent pressed his forehead against hers and wrapped his fingers around her hand where it rested against his cheek. “I'm so sorry, Seffy.”
“Don't,” she whispered. “I don't want to cry anymore.”
Trent pulled her closer. “I see you had some company.”
She nodded. “I meant to let him finish me off, but forgot and went into self-defense mode, dammit.”
“Geez, Sef.” He squeezed her harder. “I told you not to talk like that.” Running his hand down her back, he encountered something sticky. “Are you hurt?”
“It's nothing.”
He released her. “This coming from the girl who didn't know she had a chunk of glass buried in her back. Let me look.”
She lowered her arms and allowed him to tug down the top of her suit top over her shoulder. The wound was messy but looked relatively minor.
“I don't think it's too serious. How are your stitches?”
“Intact.” She slid her arms back around his waist and clung to him. “Don't be so fussy. Besides, I'm poisonous.”
He rested his chin on her head. “What does that mean?”
“My blood is deadly. I don't want you to get any on you.”
“Um, Sef, I've had your blood all over me more than once and I'm still kickin'.”
She leaned back and looked up at him in confusion. “Maybe you're immune?”
“What makes you think you're poisonous?”
“Those guys that kidnapped me from the hospital? They took me to some filthy little room and took a bunch of blood. Then a mosquito landed on my arm and after it bit me, it died.”
He smiled. “Okay, maybe it was an old mosquito.”
Her dark eyes were serious. “Well, they thought it was something. While they were distracted, I took one of the vials, opened it and splashed it on a dude with a gun. It got into his mouth and he pretty much just dropped dead.”
His eyes widened. “God, how bizarre.” His mind went back over the times Seffy had bled all over the place and was shocked that she had managed to survive this long with all she'd gone through. “I thought the compound doctors said your blood was clear of any zombie infection.”
“They were 1980 doctors. Maybe there are more sensitive tests. You said the doctor from the hospital said my blood didn't have a type.”
“Not having a type and being poisonous are two different things. The way you were bleeding, I think we would've heard something before now.”
“Well, just to be on the safe side, avoid my blood.”
He smiled. “My goal is to make sure it stays inside you where it belongs.”
Seffy sighed against him. “Maybe Fenn will let me have a vacation from time travel.”
“I'll make sure
that happens.”
She tipped her head back and regarded him with a somber gaze. “How did you get back with the supplies? I was so sure you were dead. They told me you were dead.”
“They sent someone to the hospital after you were gone, but I somehow managed to, uh, get away.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Yeah.”
“I killed a few guys today, too. It was terrible.”
“Hopefully that's the last of that little hobby.”
“Do you think we'll become hardened and cold because we've been purveyors of death?”
Trent smiled slightly. “Uh, we were just trying to survive. Don't forget, they started it.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Do you wish they got their way?”
“No.”
She pressed her cheek against his collarbone. “Why?”
“Look at me.” When she complied, he tried to come up with the right words. “I know what you saw today. I saw...it after you left. But your friends are still alive here and now.”
Her eyes clouded with fresh tears.
He tugged a piece of hair from her face. “Maybe the parallel universe thing didn't really exist, at least not the way it appeared. Or maybe if we can fix what happens on this timeline, that one would never exist anyway.”
“I watched Gareth die. I saw their spilled blood. That was pretty damn real.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But real Gareth, your Gareth is just a few miles from here. And you'll see him soon.”
Seffy averted her head. “The Gareth today knew me.” Her bottom lip trembled. “And he was glad to see me. I don't know if compound Gareth will feel that way.”
“Let's just stay focused on the now, okay? I'm expecting someone to come looking for us. Soon, you'll have a hot shower, clean clothes, and something to eat. Something light and fruity even.”
Her lips stretched into a semblance of a smile, but Trent could tell her mind was elsewhere. Probably on Gareth. The sound of a motor reached them as if on cue. He released Seffy and stood up. “Thank God.” Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet.