Gramps
New girl's having a grade A meltdown.
I tilt my head back, shooting a stream of Marlboro smoke into the fresh air.
Yup.
Pax has got her. Not sure if she's having some kind of fit or what. I got bigger fish to fry.
Like if Peanut is okay. Kyle, God bless ʻem, is a good sort, but I'm not entirely sure he can be as violent as the situation calls for. After all, he's a scientist.
Maybe not quite as plugged into his primal side as some men.
My eyes narrow, shifting to Clyde, who seems to eerily know when someone's attention is fixed on him.
He gives a barely-there nod in my direction.
I notice Jeff Parker is gone. He just told me and Caleb he was leaving, was anxious to see his family, and didn't want to disrupt things.
The cop, O'Neil, stands against my cyclone fence, staring out at the water, a sullen expression planted on his mug.
Oh, well, shit happens.
Mitchell hovers around Pax like a demented cage fighter, ready to pounce.
I shake my head, plugging the stub of my cig out on the tread of my shoe.
Better get down to business.
Inserting my index fingers at the corners of my mouth, I whistle and make it a good ear-splitter.
I cackle when everyone shudders.
Gets folksʼ attention.
They turn to me, including the small girl from bot world of 2010. What is her damn name? Too bad the regeneration has zero impact on my short-term memory. Ah, yes—Tara.
I snap my fingers, jogging down the broad deck steps.
Rubbing my hands together, I remember I'm still wearing my apron, so I whip it off and stuff the narrow end in the back pocket of my Levi’s 501 jeans. Now there's a pair of pants that have proper pockets.
They can't make shit right now. Can't even call jeans jeans.
Denims. I roll my eyes. Stupid name.
“Listen up, everyone. It's time to trot to Sanction and get the show on the road.”
Caleb walks over, hands wide.
I head him off at the pass. “Got to see what's happening with Ali.”
“I agree, Gramps, but maybe...” He jerks his jaw at the waiting pair of zombies then swings his attention to O'Neil.
“Ah.” Got him. “Might be a little too much temptation for that squad of queers.”
“Mac?” Kim says.
I turn.
“Are you speaking about homosexuals?”
Not really. Just love the term. “Hell, no, darlinʼ. Ya see, we got Archer, and he's as queer as a three-dollar bill.”
A delicate knot forms between her brows.
Damn. I swipe a palm over my face. My fat mouth always overruns my alligator ass. “What I mean is three dollar credit.” I swish my palm in the air in a guillotine gesture. “It's an old expression.”
“I know it.” Tara looks at me.
Thank God for someone who knows I'm not deliberately putting down a population segment. I'm just talking. Like usual.
“It's sort of a slur,” she adds.
Damn lot of good her input does.
“What I mean is, the Sanction are a carload of assholes, and I don't expect them to be reasonable. And they'll be a damn sight less if we drag in our zombie pals and a cop from another world of the past.”
“Amen,” Tiff says from the edge of the crowd.
Finally, a word of sanity.
Clyde frowns.
“I know, pal. I don't like it, either,” Caleb concedes.
“It's not forever,” I add.
“I want to ascertain the welfare of my family,” Clyde says.
“Not safe for you to run around, I betcha,” Tiff says, snapping a large wad of gum.
Terran gives a nod to his wife. “Yes, the powers that be might have some sophisticated tracking going on.”
Clyde's chin kicks up. “I know my inalienable rights. I can freely be about in the hours of...” He pulls out a pocket watch from an interior vest pocket of an early twentieth-century getup and presses the top button. The gold lid flips open. “Noon through half past ten in the evening.”
“What in the world is going on?” Tara asks.
It must seem pretty strange.
“The Sanction Police is a government enforcement group who patrols for illegal zombie presence.” Jade bites her lip after this handy little announcement.
“So—what?” Tara asks, looking at Mitchell. “If you're a zombie, you can only have freedom between those hours.”
Lots of uncomfortable shifting happens.
“Actually,” Jonesy begins slowly, “zombies don't have rights like people. They have jobs.”
“Slave labor,” Pax says, slashing through all the delicate verbal dancing with a sword of two words.
“Yup,” Sophie says, crossing her arms, “they can't work with food and health stuff, but they're the trash collectors and hazard waste works of the twenty-first.”
Horror washes Tara's face.
I guess we're all pretty desensitized.
But Tara's no fool. “What about him?” She points at Clyde.
This pleases me no end to say, “Grandfathered.”
Clyde and I exchange a loaded and satisfied glance.
“So Mitchell has to... what? Be put to work in some low-level job because he was murdered by intruders...”
“Nearly forty years ago?” Pax says, shifting his gaze to Mitchell.
Uh-oh. “Anyways,” I say, wishing for a smoke so bad, it'll probably materialize in the next five seconds if I think it hard enough. “Bringing the zombies is a no-go.”
“The rest of us have to scoot because we all disappeared.”
Everyone looks at poor Deedie.
Her eyes fall to her beat-up sneakers. “I'm sorry,” she says with a trembling voice.
“Please tell me what happened so when we go to this weird police station, I am in the loop.”
A small smile ghosts my lips. Haven't heard that turn of phrase in forever.
“Loop?” Pax asks.
“She wants to have enough information to not be taken unawares,” Clyde says, slipping his pocket watch away.
“Yeah.”
So I tell her.
When I get to the part about Deedie making some hands disappear here and there (while on Jonesy's property), she pales.
“No kidding?”
I look her dead in the eye. “Yes.”
Tara backs away. “I am thinking taking my chances back in bot world 2010 might have been better.”
“I don't think so,” Ron and Kim say simultaneously.
She looks at them. “I won't ask.”
Ron whips his longish hair out of his face. “Not relevant anyway. I find myself in the same timeline, but a parallel earth. There's enough similarities for familiarity but enough differences to scare the hell out of me.”
Kim smiles. “Exactly.” She looks at the sky for a second, and I admire her again. “At least I'm a healer here.”
“Organic,” Deedie says in absent correction.
“So what power do these Sanction Police have?” Tara asks.
“Well, if they can find that we broke zombie compliance laws, they can jail the zombie and fine us.” Caleb places his large hands on his hips.
“What about jailing us?”
He shakes his head. “I'm scared they'll take our daughter.”
Jade wraps an arm around Caleb's waist.
“Then why take her in there?” Tara asks.
She gives a narrow-eyed look at Deedie. Can't blame her. Helluva shock over the last twenty-four hours.
Still...
“Now, missy”—I pat my pocket, find a loose cig in the pack, and tap it out—“don't get riled up. If it weren't for Pax and Deedie, your folks would be attending a funeral for three.”
I light up, and tears spark in her eyes. “That was a low blow.”
Nodding, I inhale deeply then shoot out the stream of smoke. Our eyes meet ac
ross the haze in between. “But it's the truth.”
“Mac's a straight shooter,” Tiff adds, giving me a nod. “Hadn't been for him, I'd still be swimming in booze instead of hoping for a bun in the oven.”
Terran's face flames.
I bark out a laugh, and Jonesy joins me.
“Nice, Terran!” He swivels his hips and throws his palm up.
John gives it a half-hearted slap.
“Fools,” Sophie says, but it's good-natured.
“That's the other thing,” I say slowly, because it's too sensitive to mention.
But that's never stopped my old ass.
“If there's even a hint of a pregnant woman, they are exempt from...” I squint, thinking it through.
“Hell—everything,” Jonesy says, blowing out an exaggerated breath.
Jade moves away from Caleb, but his hand catches hers before she can pull too far away. “We can't have more children, Mac.”
I give her the look she deserves. “Can't? Or won't, Jade?”
Her eyes skate away nervously.
That's what I thought.
“Don't be afraid to have kids.”
“Because of how we turned out,” Deedie says, and I close my eyes for a few seconds.
I lift an arm, smoke trailing from my fingertips.
Deedie runs to me and scoots under my arm like a barnacle, and I kiss her temple. “You are not a mistake, dear. But a miracle. There are no women. And what few we are lucky enough to have cannot provide the simplest thing. Babies.”
Tara laughs. “Babies aren't simple. They're complicated.”
“Ya know what he means,” Pax says.
Guess his patience with Tara is getting thin. But she's here to stay and will have to just get on board with things.
Like now.
Deedie stays tucked, and I speak over her head. “I've got the Camaro, and there's two hover cars in the driveway.”
“Disabled, Gramps,” Caleb states with a helpless shrug.
I whip my head to him. “Did those punks tamper with my things?”
“I'm afraid so,” Caleb says.
“Pfft, bull hockey.” I kiss Deedie one more time and stalk off, smoke in hand, guys following.
I get to the hovers and scowl. They were obviously disabled by an EMP. I'm picking up the low-level thrum because I can hear at twenty thousand hertz.
Nice new ears, thank you very much. The sound is a clear misfire. I pivot and search for Jonesy.
“Jones!”
“Shit.” His dark skin flushes red.
“Need your skills, Jones.”
Jonesy strides over to the hovers. “You know what can happen if they find out.”
I shake my head. “Got an EMP damper on the premises.”
He cocks his head. “Might blow past that, Mac.”
I shrug. “Can't do anything without wheels.”
“Wheels...” Deedie giggles, and Mitchell frowns.
“Nobody says that anymore,” she explains, sweeping her arm toward where the hovers—well—hover.
Mitch and Tara stare at the hovers, mouths agape.
I turn to the garage, where the Camaro sits. It's parked on the ramps, but nothing much is wrong with it.
Mitchell follows my eyes and whistles. “That's a sweet ride.”
I beam with pride.
“Rebuilt that from the bear attack up,” Caleb says with a nostalgic smile.
“Bear attack?” Tara asks.
“Never mind,” I say quickly. That little tale might take too long.
Tiff snickers.
Turning to Mitch, I say, “I know you can drive something like this, but you'll have to stay here while we go to Sanction.”
He growls—a real-life growl. Gooseflesh flows over my skin.
Zombies are damn scary.
I still my racing heart with an effort. “Listen, pal—I've explained the reason behind you and Clyde not attending this fun little soiree.”
He nods. “But it goes against my very being to let Deegan out of my sight.”
Mitchell looks to Deedie.
“I'm sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Mitchell grinds out.
Deedie bites her lip and covers her face, shoulders rising and falling with her hitching breaths.
“Buck up, honey,” I say, not without compassion.
“Yes, Gramps.” She wipes her eyes, and some of the gaudy makeup remnants one of the girls applied makes a raccoon out of one of her eyes.
Tiff spits on her finger, walks over to Deedie, and wipes off the makeup.
“Thanks,” she says softly.
“I don't like Deegan being unprotected.”
Pax huffs and gives Mitchell a pissed look. “What am I? Chopped liver?”
“No offense, but you're too much of a hothead to offer clear thinking in chaotic situations.”
“That. Is. Bullshit.”
“Pax saved me when our hover crashed,” Deedie says.
Pax nods. “And I blinked us to hell and back.”
“That part of your positive contribution is debatable,” Ron says.
We look at him.
“Dude, your commentary is, like—I don't know—not helping your case.” Jonesy smirks.
“What he said.” Tiff jerks her thumb at Jonesy.
Ron sits on the concrete steps of my front stoop and plops his chin in his palm, looking glum. “Yes, I know.”
“Kinda compulsive, that mouth of yours?” I ask.
He nods.
“It's okay. I'm the same way.”
Slowly, his lips peel back into a relieved grin.
I turn away from Ron the Null, look at the zombies, then crook my finger to Clyde. He walks over, and I whisper sweet nothings about O'Neil the cop. It's not a fair resolution, but it's a damn fine temporary one.
Clyde's hazel-green eyes meet mine. “I will avail myself for that plan.”
I nod, saying quietly, “Get the big guy to help you.”
Clyde and I look at Mitch. Clyde smiles.
“We leave motormouth, Kim, O'Neil, and the zombies here. Take the kids and you middle-aged types.” I snort. I love saying that too.
They give me sour expressions.
“And we get our people out of hock.”
All the kids frown.
Clyde grins.
I sigh.
“Jones, get hot on the rides.”
He salutes me. “Yes, sir!”
Sometimes I just want to do instead of say. It's like a lost art form.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Pax
Mitch is a pain in my ass.
After our big shouting match, finally we got outta there. With folded arms, the zombies watched us leave like matching bookends of disdain as we took off in the hovers. I can still feel Clyde's disapproval like hot breath at my neck.
Though the green icon of a driver is flashing, indicating we're in auto mode, my hands are on the wheel. I don't need to do dick to the hover, and it would speed float forever.
Deegan, Tara, and Jonesy are in the hover with me. Dad and Gramps shoved Mom and Sophie in the Camaro.
Uncle John drove the near-empty hover with Tiff.
“So, you guys...” Tara carefully looks at the ground that's some four meters below, pressing her hands flat against the unbreakable glass of the severely sloped window of the back seat. “Drive above ground now?”
“Looks like it,” I say slowly, failing to keep the condescension out of my voice. Holy fuck, we are currently hovering at over one hundred kilometers per hour, narrowly missing opposing traffic by millimeters.
I'd say that part's pretty fucking obvious. And if I can admit it to myself, I thought she would be a little more on board with us today. My ego's a little bruised.
“You don't have to be such an asshole.”
Cool it, Pax. Her family was just killed before her eyes, and that guy almost raped her. She's traumatized.
I waste a glance at Tara. It's hard to deal with her
because I care, and that's the terrible truth I have to admit to myself. I'm always a Class A asshole in the beginning.
Since when are you her friend? I feel my eyebrows pop high.
Deedie crosses her arms, glaring at me.
Since she didn't have any, Pax.
Tara is looking between us.
“Sorry,” I say.
Tara frowns. “What are you guys doing?”
“Telepathy,” Deedie admits reluctantly.
“Oh, nice,” Tara says, heaving herself back against the seat. “I'm not only in the future of a weird world with a couple of people who can teleport and zap, and raise the dead—but get this, ladies and gents—they can rudely communicate in front of me.” Tara blows loose icy-blond hair strands out of her face. “Nice. Real classy.”
“I didn't want to yell at him in front of you. I was trying to let Pax save face.”
Tara looks out the window at the blurring scenery. “Uh-huh.”
My fingers tighten on the wheel, making it protest with a squeak. “It's true, Tara. I keep forgetting your circumstances, and it makes me more of an asshole than usual.”
The corners of her lips twitch, our eyes meet, and the chemistry that I remember so well flares. “Maybe you'd be okay without all this stuff going on.”
I shake my head with a weary exhale. “This stuff is usually going on.”
Her features twist into an expression of disbelief.
“Yeah,” Dee agrees.
“How do you live like this? With this constant chaos?”
Dee lifts a shoulder, mimicking my exact feelings. “It's what we know.”
A sound between a hoarse mutter and a sigh slips from between her lips. “What a miserable world. What about all this pregnancy junk? You can get pregnant and have a get-out-of-jail-free card.”
We turn and look at her.
The unreadable look on her face morphs into alarm. “Watch the road!”
“It's okay. Hover's on auto.”
Her deep-blue eyes stay wide, no doubt watching the nauseating speed the hover is traveling at.
“What's that getting-out-of-jail thing?” Dee asks.
“It's a reference from a really old game that, apparently, you guys don't play.”
Dee and I exchange a look. I shake my head. “Anyway, yeah, if a girl—any girl—is found to be pregnant, she's safeguarded within an inch of her life.” Seemed like really rudimentary shit to recite, but I have to realize that Tara's from 2010, a time when glancing at a chick got her a baby.
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