by M. Lorrox
July sits up in the bed. “Yes... How do I know you?”
“I met you in the hotel’s lobby, I believe, a few days ago... Actually, I don’t know exactly how long it’s been; I woke up in that bed over there... I don’t know, it’s very fuzzy.”
July tilts her head. “You’re Sadie’s friend, Ms. Wollstone, right?”
“You can just call me Mary, dear. If I remember, your name is—”
“Please call me July.”
Mary nods, then squints at her. “Did it used to be June?”
She nods. “But I’m not that person anymore.”
…No, you are different.
“We came here to rescue you.”
Mary purses her lips. “How’s that going?”
July sighs. “Not well, I have to believe. I was down with them, then there were attacks and… Something must have happened because now I’m here.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“That’s a blessing, at least.”
July feels a warmth coming from Mary, and she smiles. That feels good. Soft. Pleasant.
Mary also smiles. “When did you all leave DC?”
“Umm, Saturday, after lunch.” What day is it now? I guess that depends on how long I’ve been asleep. What happened to me? Johannes was there. He must have done something to me. She clenches her teeth and steams, then she squeezes her hands into fists.
“The last thing I remember was in DC, and well—”
July snaps back to the present and studies Mary. She’s sad. “It’s okay. It’s over now.”
She sighs. “The last thing I remember is being attacked by a zombie inside the Pentagon.” She pulls the blanket that covers her shoulders down and reveals nothing but bandages and air past the middle of her right upper arm. “Apparently I was tasty.”
July starts to laugh, then her mouth drops open in horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry, it’s just, that caught me off guard, I suppose.”
Mary looks at the phantom arm she still feels. “It’s not an easy thing for me to get used to.” She sniffs and frowns.
July reaches out from under her own blanket and places her palm on Mary’s remaining hand. “But you survived. Many others did not.”
“That’s true... Oh my.” She bites her lip, looking down at July’s scarred arm. “I saw the scars on your head, but...” She looks at the girl in her odd, green-and-silver eyes and loses herself for a moment. “I’m sorry, pardon me.”
July removes her hand. “It’s alright. I have these scars all over me. On my chest, on my arms and legs, on my hips—” She shoves the blanket off and lifts the ACU top she still wears to expose her belly. “And this scar here, too.”
Mary swallows. “And I was feeling sorry for myself about my arm. I’m sorry, my dear...” She wipes fresh wetness from her eyes. “This is just terrible.”
July watches her frown for a moment, then she shifts her attention out the window behind Mary. Far across the valley, leaves on the beech trees perform an elaborate dance in the wind. “In a way, I’m okay with what happened. That’s why I’m not June anymore...” She looks back into Mary’s eyes. “She’s gone. But I’m here.”
Mary nods, then replaces her glasses. “I think I understand. It’s just hard to accept not being in control... That people can hurt you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them.”
She’s so sad... “I can tell you’re more sad than you seem.”
“You’re very special, aren’t you?”
“I guess.”
Mary looks off. “I guess I am too...it makes us targets.”
Targets? All I wanted to be was a girl. July sighs. “Bad people will always try to hurt good people, but—why are you shaking your head?”
Mary swallows. “Dear, the bad people, they believe they’re the good ones. They’re always thinking that they’re fighting against a broken system, and that they’re trying to create something better. To us, they’re bad, but to them, the people that fight against them are bad because they get in the way.” She shakes her head for emphasis, saying, “Everyone believes they’re righteous.”
No true good, and no true evil? Her pulse quickens, and her face tightens.
“Dear? Are you okay?”
She snarls. “I understand what you’re saying, but you’re wrong. At least in this one case.”
Mary tilts her head.
“You’re saying there’s never a true good or bad—”
She waves her hand in front of her. “No objective good or bad—”
July shakes her head. “Fine, and maybe that’s true for most, but there’s an exception... Dr. Melgaard.”
Mary glances away from the smoldering hatred on the girl’s face to the scars on her head. “Because he did that to you?”
“He did, but he also murdered innocent people. My friends: Beatrice and Candace.”
Mary sighs. “I had no idea... I know what it’s like to have your loved ones stolen from you.” She shakes her head, picturing her long-lost daughter, and her heart drops. “I wish I could get her—we wish we could get them back, but we can’t. We’re forced to move on and remember them forever after.”
July imagines sitting in the courtyard and playing chess with Beatrice, walking out of the infirmary and smiling at Candace, and at feeling both of their warmth and care when the doctor told her that she was sick. Dr. Melgaard... I will kill you.
Mary clears her throat and locks her gaze on July. “He’s here...somewhere. I woke up once earlier—for the first time since being in DC—and he came to put me back under.”
July grits her teeth. “I’m going to tear him to pieces.”
Mary exhales and shakes her head. “That’s a very bold statement for such a small girl.”
July lifts a hand and flexes her fingers into claws. “I’m going to rip his arms and legs off, then I’ll tear his guts out, straight through his stomach. I want him to feel every bit of pain until he dies.”
Mary’s lip curls to a grin. “I would like to see that.”
She drops her hand and growls at Mary. “You don’t believe me? Well you should. I’m stronger than you can imagine... I am.”
Mary leans her face toward July. “I do in fact believe you.”
July relaxes into the bed, then she turns back to Mary with a devil’s grin flashing in her eyes. “He came in here before? When you woke up? How did you get him? Can we get him to come back?”
Mary shrugs. “When I woke up and saw my... When I realized I lost my arm, I screamed. Later—much later—he came.”
July hops out of the bed and walks toward the door on the far side of the room. “I’m sure that’s locked, right?”
Mary furrows her brow. “Honestly, I didn’t check, but I’m sure it is. I’ve heard guards talking just past it in the hallway.”
July pauses, sees the stack of chairs against the wall, and with one hand, she picks the top one up by the back. “Let’s get noticed again. Sound like a plan?”
Mary smiles. “Indeed.”
In the middle of the night, Charlie and Ghost split up and find dead—but still standing—trees to use for the funeral pyres. One by one, they knock them down, then using Zinner swords as hatchets, they strip off the branches. They make a bed of four trunks, laid side by side, down near the shore of the sound. They pile the larger branches on top, then all the smaller branches along the sides, forming a long trough.
Although Naga’s partial remains are larger than Ricochet’s, and Ghost is weaker than Charlie, she insists on carrying her dearest friend’s remains. They lay their two fallen brothers on the logs with their heads separated by a few feet in the middle.
Ghost turns to Charlie and bows her head. “Thank you. I’d like to finish alone.”
He places his hand on her shoulder, leaving a bloody print—Ricochet
’s blood. Her whole body is covered with Naga’s. Charlie dips his head in a bow, then he turns and walks into the water to return to the boat.
Ghost sits and meditates beside the pyre until the sun’s rays stretch across the valley and light the trees on the far mountain. Then, she makes a torch. When the sun’s rays reach the disabled boat, she begins her last prayer. When the first beam of sunlight touches the edge of the pyre, Ghost walks its perimeter, lighting the smallest twigs piled on top on fire.
She tosses the torch into the middle of the pyre, right between her friends’ heads.
Then, she says her final goodbyes to each of them, catches her tears in her hand, and flings them into the growing blaze.
They sizzle, and she memorizes that sound: the sound of pain meeting fire.
When she returns to the boat, she’s done crying. She finds Charlie resting, and she drops to his side. She shakes his shoulder. “It’s done.”
He opens his eyes and nods, still partially asleep.
“Can we go kill them now?”
He shakes his head, now more awake than asleep.
“Why the hell not?”
He sits up and yawns. “You need to rest. I’ll wake everyone up.” He finds her focused eyes. “The time will come.”
-Riiinnnng, Riiinnnng, Riiinnnng-
Melgaard wakes up and grabs his phone. “What is it?”
“This is Hector. The girl’s awake and breaking shit. Oh, and she’s screaming various turns of ‘Fuck you, Melgaard.’”
He laughs. “I see.”
“The guards outside the room are concerned she’ll break through the door.”
He furrows his brow. “The doors are strong enough to—”
“Of course they are, but the point remains that she’s out of hand.”
“Are there any specific orders?”
“Negative, just deal with the situation.”
Lars flings off his covers. He slept in shorts and a tank top, and although his arms show the definition only a daily workout can deliver, his legs are thin with bulging joints. He sighs while he considers courses of action, but then he smiles. “I think I know just the thing; I’ll break her spirit. I’ll show her who’s in control—who holds all the cards.”
“Just take care of it. I’m sending an extra guard unit.”
“Tell the guards to tell her that I’m on my way.” He hangs up. I just need to swing by my lab and grab something first.
As Lars approaches the room Mary and July now share, he whistles his favorite Norwegian folk song and smiles, even though his legs ache with every step.
“MELGAARD! FACE ME!” Her voice rattles the guards in the hall, and when they notice Lars coming, they harden their nerves. The guard in command takes a step toward him. “Would you like an escort inside, sir?”
Lars keeps whistling and shakes his head. That sends the wrong message. There’s only one message she’s going to receive, and it’s that she is out of her league.
Inside, July hears the whistling. Then she hears the unmistakable sounds he makes when he walks across tile. The same as in his lab. He’s here. She smiles and walks back toward her bed. She mouths HE’S HERE, to Mary.
Mary sits on the edge of her bed, and July hops up next to her.
“Unlock this door and get out of my way.” Lars winks at the guard.
The door is unlocked, and he takes a step in but turns back to the guard. “This door stays closed until I say otherwise. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Lars steps into the room with a large plastic container under his arm. Cold liquid sloshes inside it with every step. He looks to his sides; pieces of three or four broken chairs litter the ground. Glancing behind him, he sees dents in the wall and dings on the steel door. He snorts a laugh, then he continues toward the beds.
July stares at the man who killed her friends, at the man who ravaged her, and she waits for him to come closer.
He grabs another chair and sets it down a dozen feet from Mary and July. He sits down. “You’ll have to excuse me for not standing, my poor legs are tired.” He sets the plastic container on his lap and can’t help but give July the shit-eating-est grin that has ever graced his face. “You wanted to see me?”
July swallows. “Yup.”
He glances at Mary. “Hello again, I hope you are feeling rested.”
She moves to fold her arms in front of her chest, and when she fails due to lack of right arm, she sighs. “What are you doing with us here? I heard you before, when you had me under. I heard, and felt—” She raises her stubbed arm “—every single thing that was said and what was done to me. Whatever drugs you gave me only kept me under enough to keep me from screaming.”
Lars frowns. “Well, I am certainly sorry for that. You are a unique specimen, Ms. Wollstone. I don’t believe I’ve ever studied anyone as old, or as hardy as you.” He darts is eyes to July. “With the exception perhaps of June here, or I should say, Donor X1.”
“I didn’t donate anything, you asshole. You stole from me. You stole my life from me.”
He shakes his head. “It looks like your life is right in your hands.” He chuckles. “Sorry, inside joke.”
She snickers. “You have no idea.”
He mocks her. “Neither do you.”
July licks her lips. “I helped myself to about a gallon of blood from the fridge, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Let me know if you’d like any more.” He sneers at her and makes sure she sees him doing it. Just get on with it already. I don’t have all day to teach you lessons.
“I just want to know one thing…” Before I kill you. “Why did you do those things to me, back in the lab? And why did you kill the others?”
Interesting... “Ever since the zombie outbreak, we’ve been looking for a way to harness the virus, a way to preserve it—a way to improve it. The blood sample you gave Ms. Baker proved that something in your blood was the answer.”
“And my ovaries? You freakin’ sicko!”
Lars glances at Mary, who stares back at him. He sniffs and looks at July. “You don’t understand medicine, girl, for if you did, you would understand the importance of stem cells. Your bone marrow, thankfully because of your age, was mostly red. It does more than just make blood. It’s filled with a type of adult stem cells. Females—I assume you have been told—are born with their life’s supply of oocytes… Egg cells, just undeveloped. From your ovaries, we can harvest eggs, and from them, after parthenogenesis, we can harvest embryonic stem cells.”
Embryos from my eggs. She shakes her head. “Why do you want my stem cells?”
Lars groans. “I don’t have time for your little question session. I came here to—”
July leaps from the bed and lands feet before him. “TELL ME!”
He’s surprised by her aggression, but he hides it and strengthens his will. “Back off.”
Her eyes dart back and forth between his, then she takes two steps back. She doesn’t hop back onto the bed. “You violated me and killed the person I was, for what? Your selfish goals? And you killed my friends just because they were there. They were witnesses, right?”
His thumb rubs the edge of the container on his lap. “That’s right, you’re a smart girl, and I want to show you something.” He stands and takes the top off the container, but he holds it above her head so she can’t see its contents.
July smiles at him. “Show me whatever you want, but know that it’ll be the last thing you ever do. I’m tired of looking at your face—” She inches her head toward him. “—while it’s attached to your intact body, and I’m going to enjoy ripping you to pieces.”
He laughs, then he lowers and tilts the box forward so she can see what’s sitting in a solution inside. “Pieces like this? You were staying with the Costanzas back at the hotel. I imagine you know e
xactly who these pieces used to belong to.”
With a blast of energy, Rusty shakes awake. He wines, but no one is around to hear him—let alone comfort him. In a flash, he’s off the bed and scratching at the door to the hallway. -Bark!-
He tilts his fuzzy head and listens. -BARK!-
He turns around and trots into the room, then runs and jumps at the door, slamming against it with his shoulder. -Thud.- Then he backs up and does it again.
And again.
And again…
July looks into the box. “Hands... Eddy’s hands... OH MY GOD!”
Lars’ smile grows with July’s widening eyes, but it only lasts a moment. She starts convulsing and groaning, every muscle twitching and her mind racing.
His smile fades into confusion, but that too only lasts a moment.
July coaxes her tremors down to twitches, then with an exhale, to nothing.
No physical movement at all—no breath, only a heartbeat and her blood flowing through her veins. Her mind though, has never been more active. For the first instant, she thinks of Eddy—with his hands—the way she knows them: holding his compound hunting bow and releasing an arrow at a target set up at their old school, his thumbs stuck through his belt-loops while he walks alongside her under the shade of trees, rifling through his shaggy black hair when he’s flustered or embarrassed, pressing a string of beads into her hand and looking in her eyes, wrapping around her in a hug, holding her hand.
The next instant her mind’s eye is in the box with his hands and looking up at Dr. Melgaard—up his hairy nostrils. Now it’s behind him, seeing his silhouette, seeing the way her body looks, seeing Mary on the bed, and seeing out the windows.
And that’s what does it: the view outside.
Moving past Dr. Melgaard toward the windows in her mind’s eye, she passes Mary, who is frozen with her mouth agape. Behind her, the morning’s brilliant light glows the far mountain. Every ridge of every leaf on every beech tree, jagged but alive and nourishing. The birds and their songs sprinkled like salt dried on ocean rocks cracking with waves blowing through the valley carrying mist—and seed—and breath.
