by Cameron Jace
Lewis and Fabiola stared at each other. As much as they looked perplexed they also looked suspicious of something. Were they suspicious of him? Did Jack do something wrong?
“We don’t know,” Fabiola said. “We thought it would be Alice who made the children read, but she never had access to his precious knowledge.”
“Who else knew then?” Jack asked Lewis.
“Only me, Fabiola, and the March Hare.”
“So it was the March then?”
“The March hadn’t remembered the past until a few hours ago,” Fabiola said. “Whoever made the call to the schools all over the world made it earlier today or yesterday. It’s not an easy process.”
“The call?”
“We have a secret number that has been passed through Inkling followers through the years, school teachers who’ve been told this might happen,” Lewis explained. “They played along for years but started making the children sing when they saw the mushrooms and believed us.”
Jack nodded, taking another beautiful breath of life. “I guess Alice in Wonderland finally surpasses the Bible at this point,” he said, preparing to stand up. “Funny how the Bible isn’t the book to read at the end of the world.”
Lewis and Fabiola didn’t laugh, though he was damn sure it was a fitting — and lame — joke. He thought it was his delivery. As much as he felt alive again, there was something about his resurrection that felt unusual. He couldn’t put his finger on the problem though.
“Thank the children for me, Lewis,” Jack said. “I have to say that we still don’t know who made the call—“
“I think it’s the Hatter,” Lewis interrupted.
Jack was going to comment that, to his knowledge, the Hatter had been dead for years. But he didn’t need to clarify as Fabiola interrupted with a hoarse voice and painful twitch in her tongue, “The Hatter is dead, Lewis.”
Lewis shied away from her eyes, “I know,” he reasoned. “It’s just that he was the only other one apart from me, you and the March who knew about the children reading.”
“Maybe the Pillar?” Jack tilted his head saying the words, worried of scrutiny and shaming from Lewis and Fabiola.
Fabiola scoffed, wordlessly.
Lewis seemed to think about.
“Look I know everyone hates this man,” Jack said. “But I have to say he has been on our side all along.”
“Give me a break, Jack,” Fabiola said. “You just love him because you’re his—“
“Fabiola!” Lewis raised his voice. “Not now!”
“I’m what?” Jack asked.
“Never mind,” Fabiola said. “Look, the Pillar’s had one end game, none other than making Alice love him so when the world ends, in wherever scenario, he would win.”
“I want to know why you think I love the Pillar—“ Jack wanted to know.
Fabiola interrupted and neglected his wishes, “Think of it. If Alice wins, she had formed so much of a bond with him, she will never bring herself to kill him. If Jabberwocky wins, he will still be his right hand because no one has more darkness in his heart than the Pillar.”
“We don’t have time to talk about this,” Lewis said. “We need to get going. We should—“
“We shouldn’t do anything,” Jack was furious. “What was Fabiola about to say? I’m the Pillar’s what?”
“Jack,” Lewis gripped him hard by the shoulder. “Fabiola is in a bad state of mind. She is bitter. The Pillar hurt her so much and she missed every chance to kill him because she wasn’t sure who he was.”
“What does that even mean?” Jack pulled himself away.
“It means I’m fed up,” Fabiola said. “I’m going to kill the Pillar this time,” she rushed out of the bus and left them.
Lewis stood speechless. He looked as if deciding whom he should comfort more now. Jack and Lewis’s eyes met. Jack expected Lewis to explain what Fabiola was about to say.
But Lewis left Jack and ran after Fabiola, leaving Jack alive and more confused than when he was dead.
23
Present: Amusement Park, London
Cheshire watched Fabiola choke the Pillar with his own hookah hose.
With folded arms and a Joker mask, he wondered why he hadn’t ever thought of possessing a marriage counselor. That would have been fun—and eventually boring.
Love and hate were two sides of the same coin. Still, the Cheshire was happy to stay penniless while staying away from love and emotion.
Fabiola really wanted to kill the Pillar, which made the Cheshire feel useless. He’d come to kill him, but Fabiola was badass. He had to lay back and lean against a figure from the carousel. But then he had to jump off when he discovered the figure was that of a dog.
The Pillar resisted Fabiola’s chokes but also seemed to let her have her way. Did he want her to kill him? What was it with him today? He seemed like he was someone else. Like all his mojo and mischievousness has flown out of the window.
The Cheshire seriously wondered if the Pillar had already planned the end and only watched them all unknowingly follow his bait like puppets on a string.
Which was probably the case, but why would he accept death if his plan was going well. Wasn’t he part of the winning crowd in the final chapter?
Didn’t sound like him. The Pillar always won, whether the Cheshire liked it or not. That’s why killing was the only possible satisfaction.
Fabiola had Pilla da Killa sprawled on his stomach and was choking him with the hose, so hard not only her knuckles whitened but her whole body and face went pale.
On the contrary, the Pillar’s face reddened like a ripe apple—or a devil in wrath.
This didn’t look right.
Something was off.
The Cheshire wished he knew what.
All he could think of was that the Pillar would not give in that easily.
Unless his death was actually a win.
Could the reading children resurrect him again? The Cheshire had watched it on the news on his way here to kill the Pillar. News analyst proposed the answer to children reading Lewis Carroll’s books all over the world to being an antidote to death for the end of the word. Thus it would resurrect the good ones, or help them survive.
The Pillar most definitely wasn’t one of them.
“If he were a good guy, then I’d be Mother Teresa, or better, Jesus Christ,” he mumbled to himself.
“Stop mumbling and come help me!” Fabiola yelled at him, struggling with the Pillar.
“Nah,” the Cheshire waved a hand, occupied with his thoughts. “Stopped having threesomes after college.”
For the love of nonsense, the Cheshire was surprised at the Pillar wheezing at his jokes. He watched the dying man wink at him with a red face and barely mouth the words ‘good one, Cheshire.’
What kind of man was this Pillar?
The Cheshire had known him for centuries and still couldn’t understand him. Or…
Or was it he never actually meant to understand him. It occurred to him that the Pillar may not have had a final plan for the end of the world, but that everything he had done since Wonderland was part of a bigger plan.
The Cheshire purred in denial. That couldn’t be. He hated books and movies when the villain or protagonist ended up revealing it was all part of a plan.
“Part of a plan, my furry ass,” he mumbled again. “The world is a random place and all we can do is survive it as long we can—or get us some nine lives and enough milk for the ride.”
Maybe the Pillar had no plan. Just a loon who turned madness into an art of delusion.
As he watched the Pillar die — finally — he remembered the Queen of Hearts words about the Pillar’s curse. The deal he made with the Looking Glass.
Whoever kills him will have to wear his body and face for life.
The Cheshire had forgotten the old hag told him this. It sounded like some Edgar Allan Poe crap in the beginning, but what if it were true?
“Well, it means Fabiola will
turn into the Pillar’s face,” he rubbed his mask’s plastic chin—did Michael Mayers itch walking with that mask on Halloween?
Ah, dang, he was getting distracted with nonsense.
Back to the Fabiola wearing the Pillar’s face. What would it mean? How will she behave then?
“Well, that will be a kick in her nuts,” he chuckled.
The Cheshire realized how genius the Pillar’s curse was. The man couldn’t become immortal, having not found the fountain of youth. So instead of pursuing it, he made his legacy live on. You kill him, you have to wear his damn face and body for life.
And…
Shit…
The Cheshire’s heart sank into his puss-boots.
A realization struck him, so strong it wasn’t quite comprehensible. Like studying math or chemistry. Gibberish stuff that is actually useful and meaningful but needs a code to decipher first.
He stiffened, watching the Pillar die. He needed to act fast because maybe killing the Pillar was in his favor, not against him.
“Genius!” the Cheshire let out a wheeze.
“Yeah, genius,” Fabiola said with gritted teeth. “That you promised to kill him with me and backed off and let me do all the work!”
Think. Think. Think.
The Cheshire had to think fast, but like all of us, his mouth spat the words out before he could form a comprehensible reason why he spoke, “Stop!”
“What?” Fabiola looked like she was surely going to kill the Cheshire next.
“Don’t kill him!” the Cheshire said.
“Back off,” she roared. “Or I really will kill you next.”
“If he dies he wins!” The Cheshire pleads.
“No one dies and wins!”
“Not unless they’re the Pillar.”
“What are you talking about, Chesh? Come help me finish him.”
“The curse!”
“What curse?”
“The Queen told me about the spell he used in Wonderland. I tried to tell you before—“
“What Queen? My sister? Ah, that nonsense again. Come help me. I need to make sure he isn’t breathing. I need to make sure his heart stops.”
“You need to listen to me, White Queen,” the Cheshire’s thinking hadn’t come up with an answer yet. He was trying to buy himself time.
All he knew was that even if you can kill the Pillar with his own hose, he will never die because you will wear his body and face. And what will that do to you? You will succumb and become another version of him. How can you explain to people you’re not him. Whatever you do, no one will believe you, and in the end, you will have to become him, or another version of him.
What if Fabiola killed the Pillar and just became another Pillar. And then someone else kills Fabiola thinking they are killing the Pillar, then also wearing his face and body and ending up being him.
It was genius and never-ending. The Pillar was always going to win.
The Cheshire ran ahead and jumped Fabiola, the three of them looking weird and funny and totally mad.
“What the hell are you doing, Cheshire?” Fabiola ached as he pulled the hose back from her.
“I lied,” the Cheshire mustered the courage to still sound confident while he was scared out of his mind. “I do like threesomes.”
24
Present: The Wonderland War, London
“So the children reading books is what keeps Lewis alive?” I ask Constance after hearing her story about how they survived the bus.
“Keep us alive,” Constance says. “And hopefully the whole world.”
I take my time to comprehend things. When I was in the asylum I used to read some books to kill time. I remember I hated when people in the books died and came back. I always thought it was an author’s cop-out. But in this — if this is real life — I like it.
“The question is,” I say but Constance shushes me.
“The question is what are we going to do with this gift of resurrection.” She says.
“Kill the Jabberwocky,” I had told her about what the March told me.
Constance nods in agreement. “And only you can do it, bad girl,” she jokingly touches my cheeks. “You and your Vorpal sword.”
We’re jogging the streets while we’re talking. We have become accustomed to the chaos and deaths all around us. Escaping mushrooms and falling buildings has grown as mundane as in a video game.
I notice something though. It’s not only mushrooms that grow all around us, but also plants. Huge Tiger Lilies and more.
Those flowers bring back memories I hadn’t remembered in a long time — I assume so, at least.
Memories of me and Jack walking hand in hand in Wonderland.
Among the mushrooms and talking plants.
I never thought I knew him that long.
“Where are we going?” Constance asks.
“To find the Jabberwocky,” I say. “I had a scooter a while ago and now it’s gone missing. We have to run until we find a vehicle.”
“How are you going to find the Jabberwocky?”
“I have no idea. My best — and fastest — guess is the Reds.”
“What about them?”
“They tried to kill me earlier, and then tried to fool me into killing the Pillar. They did it to spare the Jabberwocky confronting me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’m not sure about anything. I’m trying to go with the flow,” I take her hand and detour farther from the growing plants. I have a bad feeling about their long sharpened green vines. I don’t remember them looking like that in Wonderland. “Come with me.”
“So you think if we kidnap a Red, he can lead us to Jabberwocky?” She asks.
“Wow. You read my mind.”
“It’s actually the only thing that came to mind,” she looks suspiciously behind her.
“What’s going on?”
“I think someone’s following us.”
“I think it’s the plants,” I tell her. “I have a bad feeling about them.”
“Yeah. Where did they come from? I thought it was only mushrooms rising up from the ground.”
“I thought so too. The March said nothing about plants with razor-sharp thorns.”
“Maybe we should find the March.”
“I thought about it, but look around, Constance. Where will we find him?”
“Like you found me.”
“You found me.”
“But you went to the bus first.”
“That’s what I meant by not finding the March. You, I knew where to look for you. The March fell off some mushroom.”
“I see,” she says, running off with me.
“So who were you really talking to on the bus?”
“No one,” I squeeze her hand. “Forget it.”
“I thought someone sounded like you on the bus. I heard the word Malice.”
“Nothing, Constance. Trust me. I talk to myself sometimes when I’m stressed.” I’m not going to scare her and tell her my darkest side came out. I’m not going to tell that I suspect the mushroom incident allows us to separate our darker selves as physical beings. It will scare her.
Besides, I have no proof I wasn’t hallucinating. Or else why did Malice escape when Constance arrived?
“Tell me about you,” I change the subject.
“What about me, Alice?”
“Why separate from the others?”
She takes some time to answer. I’m not sure if it is intentional or not. I’m looking ahead to avoid the plants.
“I panicked,” she says. “Resurrections struck me as mad, and I left the bus running, thinking this was the afterlife.”
“Poor girl. I’m glad you’re alive. At some point, we should find the others. I just don’t want to waste time. I wonder why they didn’t come looking for you, but I assume everyone deals with their own problems in different ways.”
“You said you saw Fabiola.”
“Yeah. She didn’t tell me how you survived, but
her story makes sense. She wanted to kill the Pillar. I left her chasing him.”
“I think we should find Jack.”
I tense. “Stop asking me to find others. Do you think I don’t want to find Jack? We have no time for sentiments. Once you spot a Red, tell me and I will get him to tell me where to find the Jabberwocky.”
Constance reverts to silence and I don’t want to look at her to know how she is feeling. I’m being hard on her, and myself, but I can’t be distracted from my purpose.
A memory of Jack attacks me.
We’re still holding hands in puppy lovey Wonderland. As we walk and dance, I find myself suddenly stop in my tracks, so does Jack. I’m not sure why, but I think I’m staring at some dark shadow next to me. The Jabberwocky.
I can’t see him but I feel it. Suddenly Jack disappears and I’m alone facing the dark man himself.
“Look!” Constance screams as she pulls me down.
I duck, snapping out of my memory, and looking at where she is pointing.
We see the plants attacking people all over the streets. If the mushrooms brought down buildings, the plants are the assassins for the end of the world.
Their long snappy vines swing all over like Godzilla’s tail and cut everything in half. People, their heads, their arms, and even cracked parts of the building and cars.
“What the hell is this?” I am talking to myself.
Constance is shivering next to me. I haven’t seen her as scared before. “I can fight Reds and dark souls and everything that comes my way, but how can we fight this Alice?”
She has a point. This is not nonsense or madness. This is pure death in the shape of plants coming out of the ground.
You can fight humans, animals, and even fight yourself, but how can you fight nature. It has no soul. Doesn’t spare. It’s unpredictable, and it has been here before all of us, so it has the mother-load of advantages. Sometimes I think we, humans, are strangers to this earth. At some point, we came and settled.
But these plans? They’ve been here since day one. They’ve created this place.
Constance and I drop flat on our backs and watch a huge plant sweep an inch above us. Wails and screams escalate everywhere. Blood drops from the vines edge down my face. Blotches of dark red from the sky.
