by Peter Clines
They soared down through the air to the southwest corner of the Big Wall. A large guard post stood at the corner, almost twenty feet up and sixteen feet square. Low, wooden walls ran around it, and half of it had a roof. There were four guards on duty. They stood as far as possible from the fifth person in the tower and tried to make it look casual.
She just looked too much like an ex for some people to be comfortable.
Madelyn looked just as excited as Cesar had. A pair of tinted goggles hid her eyes. She wore a pair of cargo pants and her battered denim jacket over the wet suit Stealth had found for her. The suit’s white slashes and accents matched the Corpse Girl’s skin.
She waved when she saw them. “Is this cool or what?” she called up to them. “I’ve got a uniform and we’re going on a mission!”
“Yep,” said St. George. He nodded at Makana and the other guards before looking back to her. “You bring everything?”
She held up her backpack. “Two changes of clothes. Toothbrush. Two journals and three pens double-bagged in Ziplocs. Four bottles of water. Three bags of chicken jerky.”
St. George glanced up at Zzzap. “See? She knows it’s chicken.”
Yeah, but she also thinks it’s still 2009. No offense.
“None taken, jerk,” Madelyn said.
His electric laugh buzzed in the air.
She turned to St. George. “So how are we doing this?”
St. George pulled a bundle of yellow straps and buckles from his bag. Then he pulled out a smaller one with thinner, black straps and handed it to her. “Five-point harness for me, three-point for you. Like a tandem skydiver.”
She unrolled the harness and twisted it back and forth. “I’m going to hang off your chest for the whole trip?”
He shook his head. “Piggyback. Leaves my hands free, keeps you kind of sheltered if something happens.”
Her eyebrows went up. “So you want me to…ride you?”
The electric laugh buzzed in the air again. Makana and one of the other guards snickered. A murmur of “necrophilia” echoed from the farthest pair.
St. George shook his head. “Don’t even go there.” He glanced over at Makana. “You know how these things go on, right?”
The dreadlocked man nodded. “It’s not hard.” He took the yellow harness and spread it out over the floor of the tower. “Haven’t put one on in years, but it’s like riding a bike.”
When was the last time you rode a bike?
Makana grinned up at the wraith.
He guided St. George into the harness and pulled the different straps over his shoulders and around his waist. He cinched straps down tight and pulled another one through a buckle on the hero’s chest. The fit was a bit awkward over St. George’s biker jacket.
He watched Makana’s hands move back and forth. “Is it going to be this much work to take it on and off every time?”
“Nah,” said Makana. “Most of this is sizing it to you. You can get out of it by undoing this and wiggling it a bit.” He tapped the chest-buckle. “It’ll be loose if you wear it without the jacket, though. Not as safe if you fall.”
“I’m not worried about falling,” said St. George. He glanced at Madelyn. “Not me, anyway.”
Makana finished adjusting one of the lower straps and turned around. He didn’t move toward Madelyn. “Stand up straight,” he said.
“I am standing straight.”
“Chin up.”
Zzzap had floated a few yards back up into the air. He glanced down at Makana. What are you, the posture police?
The dreadlocked man inched forward, his eyes on Madelyn’s face.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said. “It’s not like I’m going to bite you or something.”
“Yeah, well…just don’t try anything,” he said.
“You should be so lucky.” She pushed her chin up and rolled her eyes at St. George.
“Give it a rest,” he told her. He looked at the dreadlocked man. “You’re not scared of a teenage girl, are you?”
Makana took in a breath to reply, but thought better of it. He shuffled forward and took the black harness Madelyn held out to him.
She crossed her arms and glared up at a cloud. Makana had her step into the harness and tightened it around her thighs and waist. He touched her as little as possible. When he was done, she made a point of smiling at him without showing any teeth. “Thank you.”
Trucks are pulling out, Zzzap called down to them. He’d drifted up and now hung almost twenty feet above the tower. They just went through the East Gate. Looks like there weren’t any problems.
“Good to hear,” said St. George.
Madelyn slung her backpack over her shoulders. “So are we ready to go now?”
St. George slid a piece of paper from his jacket. “We need to make one stop, down in Marina Del Rey.”
“And there they go,” said Cesar.
St. George and Zzzap shot across the sky. Everyone in the truck watched them fly away. The heroes shrunk to black and white dots in the sky, and then they were gone behind a building.
The convoy of trucks rumbled on down the street. They could drive at almost thirty miles an hour for this stretch. All the roads around the Mount had been cleared out when they built the Big Wall.
Danielle pulled her arms a little closer to her body. Sitting in the center of the truck didn’t provide the most gentle ride, but it felt less exposed. The people standing along the sides of the truck and hanging on the rails almost blocked her entire view.
She recognized some of them. Two or three in particular. Just before they’d gone through the gate, Gibbs had looked around their truck, too, and decided to ride in the other truck with the Unbreakables.
Not a surprise, all things considered.
Cesar had stayed with her, of course. She had to talk to him about it. Again. He was getting a little too puppy doggish. Someone was going to notice.
Stealth had probably already figured things out. Which meant there was a good chance St. George knew. And maybe Barry, too.
She shook the thoughts from her head and went back to studying the other people in the truck.
Hector leaned against the side of the truck and spoke with a younger woman. Danielle was pretty sure her name was Desi. A young man with a shaved head and a messy goatee stood on Desi’s other side, trying not to look angry or jealous and doing a poor job at both.
One of the old drivers, Harry the Hook, was by the liftgate controls. He swung at something as they drove along, and she saw his spear shake with an impact. “Points,” he crowed.
“You get points for celebrities,” said Al. The brown-skinned man tugged the brim of his hat down a little more against the flow of air.
“It was,” said Harry.
Paul and another scavenger, a broad-shouldered woman named Keri, both snorted.
“It was,” Harry repeated.
“Who was it, then?” asked Paul.
“I don’t know. Some guy I’d seen in a couple things.”
Al shook his head. “Some guy?”
“Yeah, it was some guy. You’d’ve known him. It counts.”
“If you have to say it counts,” said the woman, “it doesn’t count.”
“Says who?”
“Says everyone,” Danielle chimed in.
Harry shot her an angry look. He’d never been fond of the heroes, and actively disliked them since one had broken his nose a few years back. He muttered something under his breath and turned back to the street.
Mean Green slowed as it rounded a corner. Danielle heard the clicking of teeth, and she tried not to look at the pale, outstretched hands she could see through the slats that made up the truck’s sides. Spears descended to push and prod the undead away. Then they were heading north on Highland Avenue, accelerating to catch up with Big Red.
“Hey, speakin’ of not counting,” said the not-angry-or-jealous man, “how long’s everyone think we’re going to last out there?”
Half the
eyes in the truck fell on him. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” asked Al.
The young man shrugged. “I’m bettin’ we last two weeks before the fences fall or something and we all get eaten.”
“Javi,” sighed Desi, “give it a rest.”
“I’m just saying it, Des. We’re all thinkin’ it.”
Danielle scowled at Javi, and found scowling took her mind off being out in the open bed of the truck. “Please,” she said, “tell us what we’re all thinking.”
Javi shrugged. “They’re gettin’ rid of us. Sending us off to fend on our own.”
“You’re going to work the garden,” said Al. “We’re going to search all the houses up there.”
The younger man blew air out of his lips. “That’s what they’re telling us, but I’m not stupid like you.”
Paul’s face hardened. “What was that?”
“It’s not a garden, man. It’s a big prison camp. Like, back when England shipped all their criminals to Austria.”
Hector rolled his eyes. More than a few people smirked. “Australia, you idiot,” said Keri. “Not Austria.”
“Yeah, whatever,” said Javi. “Point is, they’re shipping all of us off. Buncha prisoners, couple of guards. We work ’til we all get killed by zombies. I give us two weeks, tops.”
“You’re an idiot, bro,” said Cesar.
“What, you think you’re one of the Superfriends now?” Javi smirked at him. “D’you forget you used to be one of the Seventeens, little man? Because I betcha none of them did.” He waved his hand at the scavengers next to Cesar, then pointed it at Danielle. “She didn’t. That’s why she’s here, right? ’Cause she doesn’t trust you with her toys?”
“No,” said Danielle and Cesar at the same time.
“Why do you think I’m here?” asked Javi. “Me or Desi or Hector or any of us? More’n half of us used to be in the Seventeens, and we all got volunteered.”
A low murmur traveled through the back of Mean Green. Looks went back and forth as they all counted up the faces around them. Eight of the fifteen people in the truck bed had been members of the South Seventeens gang.
“Maybe you just don’t have any skills past using a shovel,” said Al, “and they finally decided to make you earn your keep.”
Javi smirked. “Yeah, if that helps you sleep for a few more nights, old man.”
Harry the Hook shook his head and swung his spear as they drove past another ex. Desi and Hector edged away from Javi and grumbled to each other. The broad-shouldered woman, Keri, whispered something in Paul’s ear. Neither of them looked happy. Even Cesar looked a little grim.
Danielle looked around. Right now, St. George would crack a joke or say something uplifting to boost the mood. Freedom or First Sergeant Kennedy would just yell at them to shape up and shut their mouths.
But St. George was somewhere out over the Pacific by now. Kennedy was up ahead in Big Red. Captain Freedom was back at the Mount, probably patrolling the Corner.
Danielle took in a deep breath and forced her arms down to her sides. She let the air out and tried to relax her shoulders. She pushed her chin up.
“Eden’s important,” she said. “Right now it’s probably the most important thing we’ve got going. We can’t keep scavenging the city for cans of soup.” She took another breath and fought the urge to cross her arms. “This garden’s going to keep all of us alive. Everyone’s depending on us to make it work.” She looked Javi in the eye. “We’re all important.”
Javi chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “We’re all important and it’s not a fucking prison work camp. That’s why it’s all Seventeens and screw-up soldiers, right? Is that why she’s coming, too? ’Cause she’s important?”
He waved his hand at the woman crouched in the opposite corner of the truck bed. The one no one had looked at, but they’d all kept an eye on. The one Gibbs had seen just before he announced he’d be riding in Big Red.
The Asian woman in drab sweats scowled at Javi and tried to sink deeper into the corner between the toolbox and the side of the truck, away from everyone’s stares. Half of them tried to look her in the eyes. The other half looked at her throat, at the square of red scars. It had only been three months since Doc Connolly cut out the woman’s vocal cords.
Christian Smith dismissed the other people in the truck with a wave of her mangled, three-fingered hand. The ring and middle finger were gone, removed all the way down to the palm. It had turned her left hand into a claw.
She saved one last glare for Danielle. The redhead wasn’t surprised. She’d been the one who shot the fingers off. Christian walked with a limp now, too. Connolly had fixed the kneecap as best she could, but the bullet had done a lot of damage.
Danielle hoped it hurt a lot.
Christian turned to stare out at the road. She’d chopped her black hair into a short, masculine style. With her different clothes and posture, she didn’t look anything like the councilwoman who’d been part of the Mount since the beginning.
Which made sense, because she really wasn’t anymore.
“Yeah,” said Danielle, “even her.”
MADELYN LEANED IN close to St. George’s ear. “You know what’s awesome about having my memory reset all the time?”
He twisted his head around. She wasn’t far away, but they were moving fast enough that she was a little hard to hear. “What?”
“By tomorrow I’ll have forgotten this whole boring trip!”
He laughed. It shook him enough that she clenched the straps of his harness even tighter and flattened herself against his back. Her head pressed down between his shoulder blades. She’d kept it there for most of the flight so far.
They’d been flying for almost seven hours, skimming along about sixty or seventy feet above the ocean. Nothing but sky and water for most of it. The air was cool and wet and salty.
In all fairness, St. George didn’t think the trip had been all boring. Three things had broken the monotony. Maybe an hour of excitement spread out over all their flight time.
They’d come across the first one about two hundred miles past the island of Catalina (now the home of about three hundred exes and twice as many bison), barely an hour out into the ocean. The sun-bleached sailboat’s lines were brittle and its sail tattered. They’d found no bodies and no exes. A few old cans sat in the small pantry, two bottles of water in the mini-fridge. The drawers near the bed held clothes for a man and a woman.
The second had come two hours and three hundred miles later. A quartet of humpback whales had churned through the sea below them. St. George, Madelyn, and Zzzap had paused to watch for a few minutes before the massive creatures dove beneath the surface and vanished.
The third had been almost three hours ago. The large yacht rode low in the water and leaned to one side. There’d been nine bodies. Three of them were still moving around. One had been an older man with a thick beard and a dark polo shirt. The two others had been younger women, a blonde and a brunette. The blonde wore a swimsuit covered with old blood splatters. The brunette ex just had bikini bottoms, but was painted with gore from its chin to its stomach.
St. George had put down the man and the topless woman. The ex in the gory one-piece followed them back out onto the deck, its teeth clicking the whole time. He’d tossed it out over the water. It sank beneath the waves and vanished.
“Do you think sharks eat exes?” Madelyn had asked. “Or do the exes eat them?”
“The ex-virus doesn’t affect animals,” St. George reminded her.
Still, said Zzzap, zombie sharks. Got to admit, that’d be kind of cool, in a really horrific way.
They’d had a quick snack on the tilted deck before taking off again.
On St. George’s left, the sun crept closer to the horizon. Moving west had slowed it down a bit, just enough to notice, but they had maybe an hour of daylight left. He looked down at the boxy white case hanging from his left hand. It was the size of a large cooler and weig
hed a little less than Madelyn. They’d found it in Marina Del Rey on their second try.
To his right, the light shifted as Zzzap raced back to them. He’d been flitting ahead and back since they’d left the yacht. Still on track, he said. It’s about another eight hundred miles that way. Give or take.
St. George slowed down and felt Madelyn shift on his back. “We’re not going to make eight hundred miles before it gets dark,” he said. “You want to go a little farther or call it a night?”
Doesn’t matter to me either way.
“Is there anything neat up ahead?” asked Madelyn. “Another boat? Desert island? More whales?”
I think I might’ve seen a dolphin.
She shook her head. “I say we call it a night.”
“Okay, then,” said St. George. He slowed to a stop in midair. “Making camp.”
He shifted and felt Madelyn pull on the harness straps. The red gym bag swung back and forth between them. He hefted the white case.
It’s silly, said Zzzap, but I’ve kind of always wanted to see one of these things in action.
“Me, too,” said Madelyn. She was leaning forward, trying to see over St. George’s shoulder.
“On three, then?” he asked.
They counted together. The white pack plummeted through the air. It hit the surface and vanished beneath a swell. A few seconds later the raft exploded up out of the waves, spraying water in every direction.
The life raft was a bright orange hexagon about ten feet across. A canopy stretched over it on inflatable arms and created a small tent. It trembled on the waves while a last few wrinkles stretched tight, and then it was still.
Okay, said Zzzap, that was pretty damned cool.
“Hella cool,” said Madelyn.
They sank down until they were a few feet away. Zzzap kept a safe distance. Madelyn shifted on St. George’s back, and he heard her fumbling with her harness. She slid off his back, down his arm, and caught herself on his hand. She dangled for a moment while he carried her over the raft’s entrance. He let go and she dropped a few feet onto the raft. She wobbled and fell forward into the tent.
