Coins for Charon: Palimpsest, Book 3

by P. J. Post

  “Emily, let’s go!”

  I take careful aim at the closest Button Eye. The poor woman lost her coat somewhere along the way; she’s wearing a blue and white, plaid pantsuit, maybe she was a business woman or a teacher. Snow covers her shoulders and long dark hair.

  She looks like the doctors and nurses back at the Red Cross tent, like Kim’s family, pretending everything’s normal, wearing nice clean clothes to the office because everything’s going to be okay.

  She’s in the middle of the intersection, hungry black eyes boring into me.

  I squeeze the trigger.

  The shot echoes around the square as she stumbles forward for a few steps, and then collapses face first into a puff of snow.

  A boom sounds over my shoulder, and another Button Eye falls.

  I glance back to see Emily, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she lines up her next shot.

  She fires again but misses.

  And then she’s pulling the trigger as fast as she can, managing to hit one more before she stops to reload. I join her; they’re clustered so tightly now that I barely take the time to aim.

  They begin to fall like dominoes, every shot slowing them, most dying for good, but still they come, like a landslide. They’re almost to the sidewalk now.

  “Get back, kids!”

  Emily leaps over the railing and lands next to me. “Lane?”

  I glance over and watch her shoot another Button Eye. Her hands barely wrap around the weapon. She immediately fires again.

  “What?” I can hardly hear her over the ringing in my ears.

  “I love you…”

  She stops to reload and I step in front of her, emptying my gun. I slam in a new magazine, pull the slide and begin firing again.

  “I love you too, Punkin’, now get back up the stairs!”

  She turns and races toward the door, and I leap up the stairs behind her, firing as I go.

  The other kids are screaming and crying.

  Allen is waving his gun around, but not actually shooting at anything. I’m guessing the safety is still on, and that’s probably a good thing.

  Shinji is a mess, he’s crying, losing it, but that’s nothing new.

  Carlton’s blubbering too.

  Braces Boy is hanging tough, who’d have thought it?

  Casey is standing with Hawk, holding her hand, unarmed and defenseless, in front of the others, watching and waiting — defiant.

  Jesus.

  Emily grimaces as she kills another one.

  The bodies are piling up on the stairs, it’s easy at this range and as they fall, they’re creating a barricade, slowing the ones behind them.

  A woman crawls over the pile and stands straight up, her face illuminated in Freemont’s street lights. She’s been bitten in the neck and shoulder and face, but I recognize her, it’s the woman from the caravan, the one that took Emily’s knife away.

  I take careful aim; she was another good woman, trying to do what was right, staying true to her convictions, trying not to lose herself as the world crumbled around her — and then I blow her head off.

  She falls backward over the pile and tumbles down the far side.

  I glance back.

  Emily’s eyes are teary. Did she recognize her?

  And then, “I’m out!” she grumbles.

  But that’s okay, because, for now, that’s all of them.

  I shove my last magazine in during the lull. More are coming, but they’re on the far side of the intersection.

  We’re surrounded by screams in the night, screams for mercy, screams for rescue, screams of pain, of remorse, but most of all — of terror.

  But we still have a few minutes before…

  I jiggle the door handle even though I know it’s locked.

  Surprise, it’s still locked.

  Fuck!

  “What do we do?” Carlton cries, snot running down his face. Several of the other kids mumble the same things, crowding closer. “What now?”

  The building doesn’t have any windows on the first floor, not out front or back along Half-Day Road.

  There’s nowhere to go.

  Hawk screams, and I turn as Casey and the other kids take up the chorus — a Button Eye has one hand wrapped around Hawk’s face.

  Fingers ripping at the corner of her mouth.

  Fingernails digging into her flesh, wrenching her backward, threatening to drag her over the far railing for good.

  She braces herself, fighting to get free.

  Her cheek erupts in blood as the creature loses its hold and falls back over the railing.

  Hawk stumbles forward, suddenly off balance as it releases her, and lands against the front railing. She clutches at the rail with both hands, her eyes dart about like she’s searching for something. She gasps and begins to heave…

  Silent screams — she can’t catch her breath.

  Before I can get a shot off, another creature, one that we only wounded or fucking missed altogether, grabs her coat, the seams ripping as it tears the sleeve away. And then it’s got her hand, pulling and clawing, shredding the cotton fabric and her skin alike as it extends her arm out over the railing.

  She stumbles against the railing.

  A game of Tug of War.

  The creature twists her hand…and even over the noise of Freemont’s death rattle, over the cries of the crowds, over the moans of the approaching ghouls and even the kid’s screams — even over Hawk’s new found voice and her uncontrollable wail — I can still hear her forearm break, just like that doctor at the Red Cross tent; it snaps with a gruesome pop and wiggles like Jell-O as the thing sinks its teeth into her flesh.

  Hawk’s wild-eyed screams are relentless, controlling her every breath, even as Casey’s tiny hands try to pull her back.

  And then the first Button Eye returns, wrenching at her forearm like it’s trying to yank it out of the socket, but just as it looks like he’s about to give up, he bends her arm backward across the railing and straight down, her flesh splits as the bone…

  Hawk shrieks, her eyes like saucers…

  And then they begin to eat her.

  “Lane, behind you!” Emily screams.

  “Move!” an even louder voice commands.

  I leap to the side, trying to line up a shot as Casey leans back against the corner railing, pulling at Hawk with all of her little kid strength, terrifyingly close to the far railing, terrifyingly close to the Button Eyes.

  Casey’s eyes widen.

  I turn to follow her gaze.

  An ax arcs through the falling snow, and lands on Hawk’s elbow with a sickening crunch. The blade bites through flesh and bone, burying itself several inches into the wooden railing beneath.

  The stump gushes blood as Hawk falls back against Casey, and then collapses to her knees, floundering on the floor. She cries out as she reaches for her missing arm, her eyes rolling back in her head.

  “Hurry!” the voice commands again. “Inside!”

  I glance back as I pick Hawk up.

  The door’s open, dim yellow light spilling out.

  I race through the doorway, pushing the kids ahead of me. Someone shoves the boxes, bottles and shit off a desk, making room for me to lay Hawk down.

  And then someone is tying a tourniquet just above Hawk’s elbow, twisting it tight with a long wooden spoon.

  Someone in a dark parka and ski goggles has a small portable torch fired up and is holding a broad-bladed knife under the flame. The face looks up at me, fire reflecting in amber lenses, and a feminine voice calls out, “We’ve done this before, she’ll be fine.”

  I turn back to the door, and take attendance again.

  Except for Jem and Pixie, and Hawk’s left arm, we’re all here.

  Casey is trembling like a leaf.

  I reach out to her, and she runs over, leaping into my arms. I hold her tight.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she cries over and over. “I tried!”

  “You did goo
d, you did good,” I say, trying to comfort her.

  “Did we get it in time?” the other shadow asks.

  “Almost positive,” the first voice answers as she locks the door.

  I follow the voice; it’s another girl, the one with the ax. It’s nearly as big as she is. She slides the hood of her long coat back, her head bundled against the cold, and then raises her ski goggles.

  Blue eyes, innocent blue eyes, sky fucking blue eyes…

  It’s Samantha.

  Fuck me, it’s Sam.

  Emily races over and wraps herself around Sam, crying out, but Sam only hugs her for a moment before gently pushing her away. “We have to help your friend, okay? Come hold her leg down, come on kids, we need everyone to help,” Sam says, taking charge again.

  They obey, lining the desk, taking hold of Hawk, keeping her still.

  Sam looks at me, her eyes are smiling even as the tears pool, but there’s something more too: confidence, hope, redemption — gratitude? She’s so much stronger than I am.

  Button Eyes begin to thump against the door. Casey wraps her arms tighter around my neck, and then twists around to watch.

  Sam winks at her and then focuses on Hawk.

  I stare back at the door, it’s made of thick steel and has massive industrial hinges — it’ll hold.

  Shit, it has to.

  The blade begins to glow under the steady heat of the torch.

  “Hold her,” Torch Girl says.

  She takes a deep breath, looks Hawk up and down, pauses for a moment…and then she presses the knife against Hawk’s stump.

  Hawk jerks and bucks against the small hands holding her down, kicking Carlton in the face.

  Her screams are primal.

  The odor of burning meat quickly overpowers the room.

  Torch Girl pulls the blade away and begins reheating it. “It’s going to take a few tries,” she says matter of factly as she kneels down again.

  Hawk is sobbing, her face twisted as she slumps back on the wooden desk. She’s too exhausted to struggle anymore.

  Her threats and moans are nearly unintelligible.

  Casey slides down from my arms and stands next to Hawk’s head. Her lower lip is quivering, her dirty cheeks streaked clean with tears, yet I can see the muscles in her jaw tightening, working. She gently brushes Hawk’s good cheek. “You got this, Jem said so.”

  Casey’s going to have to be brave enough for the both of them.

  Sam pulls out clean towels from her backpack and lays them across Hawk’s cheek wounds, and then presses down, trying to stop the bleeding.

  “I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry,” she soothes. She looks to Casey. “Hold them here, not too tight, yeah, like that. She needs you.”

  Casey just stares at Sam, her eyes intent, and then she turns back to Hawk.

  “Again,” Torch Girl says.

  The blade sizzles against Hawk’s stump.

  Allen stumbles away and throws up.

  Fuck.

  Everything is happening so fast, my mind can’t keep up.

  There’s another room behind this one, an office? Stairs leading up into the building are set back to our left, near the front door.

  We need to get off the first floor, get to the roof and see if we can make it to the river.

  And I need to get Hawk alone.

  I’m not sure if my blood can heal her or not, it might even turn her into one of those things, but I’m going to fucking try — I can’t let her suffer this much, and maybe still die from infection or something, fuck, Sam cut off her goddamned arm.

  Hawk begins to scream again and then mercifully passes out as the knife goes back to work.

  If I’m wrong, I’ll have to kill her.

  No one else can know, no matter which way it goes.

  In this fucked up world of unfair shit, that would just be too unfair. I can’t have anyone watch that.

  Except for Samantha.

  And it’s going to take time…she’s tough as shit, but I’m trying not to think about Jem being out there alone. It’s all I can do to push the image out of my mind: her broken little body, bib overalls and a Harvey Dent shirt, lying out there on the street, her white hair crimson…it hits me again and again. I have to trust that she’s smart enough and strong enough to make it, to hide, that Pixie…

  Fuck!

  The kids move back, their exhaustion finally catching up to them.

  We can’t stop now; I have to try to save Hawk. “Everyone upstairs,” I say, motioning them upstairs.

  “Hang on a second,” one of Sam’s guys shouts. “We need to get her stable…”

  “We need to get off this floor,” I shout back.

  Sam steps over to me and takes my hand, as if to calm me. “It’s okay, we’ve done this before.”

  I stare into her eyes, desperate to hold her, to kiss her. “Trust me,” I say.

  She looks at Hawk, and then to her friends. Torch Girl shakes her head. The other kids watch.

  She looks at me again, a hard, serious look — staring at each eye, one by one, like she’s studying me.

  Her face is blank, her own eyes, for the moment — emotionless.

  And then she nods ever so slightly.

  “You heard him, everyone, upstairs!” she cries.

  “Sam…” Torch Girl starts.

  “Up,” Sam says flatly.

  “I’ll get her, go, go,” I say.

  Emily and Casey stay close as I carry Hawk upstairs.

  Everyone clusters at the second-floor landing but I nod at Sam to keep going.

  “Top floor,” she calls out.

  When we get to the third floor I immediately look for an office, anything with privacy.

  “Sam, in here,” I say, and carry Hawk to a large store room that has a long line of windows near the ceiling facing Half-Day Road and the river several blocks over.

  Sam does the same clearing trick on a work table, and I lay Hawk down, careful of her arm.

  I turn to the kids. “Okay, I need you guys to get to the windows, keep an eye out, we’re safe for now, let’s keep it that way.”

  Casey smiles, showing me the last of her baby teeth again, but it feels wrong, everything feels wrong.

  Sam and Emily are hugging, clutching at one another. “I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again,” Sam says through tears.

  “Emily,” I say, pulling her away, “I need to talk to Sam, come get us if you need us. Sam, who’s this?” I ask pointing to Torch Girl.

  “Brenda.”

  “Brenda, thanks for, saving Hawk…”

  “It’s what we do,” she says without much conviction. I can tell she’s had a long fucking day.

  “Still, you know…would you please take Emily here to the roof and keep an eye out for my other kid? Emily, make sure she does her job.”

  I wink.

  Emily smirks.

  The girl suddenly bristles. “You can’t tell me…I don’t know you, dude.”

  I’ve had a long day too. “Jesus Christ, just get up the fucking stairs and watch for my kid, okay? Is that so hard? Fuck. I don’t have time for this!”

  “Slow down,” Sam says.

  I slam the door shut.

  She looks up at me again, confused and pissed.

  “No time,” I say.

  And then she pulls her scarf down.

  Her eyes are dark, red-rimmed circles. Her face dirty and bruised.

  But she’s still fucking beautiful.

  She smiles, still confused, but not pissed anymore, and reaches up to kiss me. But I stop her, pushing her back.

  Her eyes fall and she suddenly looks away. It’s like I’ve slapped her.

  That’s twice I’ve done that.

  I take her chin in my hand, pulling her face back up so I can look her into the eyes.

  “No, it’s not that,” I say and then pull my coat and shirts away, exposing the bite mark.

  “Oh my God! But, how…”

  “It’s a
long story, sort of.”

  “But you’re not…I mean, it’s healed, how…” Her eyes search mine.

  “I need you to trust me. I’m about to either save this little girl’s life or turn her into one of those monsters. You’re going to want to stop me, you’re going to be shocked, horrified, shit like that, but you have to trust me. I’ll try to explain, but what you’re about to see, I have to trust you’ll keep to yourself.”

  I look at her, waiting.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Do you promise?”

  She gives me a funny look and then nods. “Promise.” Her voice is faint.

  “You’ll understand in a minute.”

  I walk over to Hawk. I release the tourniquet and she begins to bleed a little from her stump. I pull the towels away from her face.

  Three deep wounds stretch from her mouth to her right eye and ear.

  I feel myself getting teary as I look away from her face and study her stump.

  Sam pulls a mostly clean rag out of her pack and wipes away the blood and muck from Hawk’s face. Her voice is sad, so soft I can barely hear. “She’s never going to be pretty again.”

  “She’s fucking beautiful!”

  I throw my coat and backpack on the floor. “She’s fucking beautiful,” I say again, softly, more to myself than Sam, and then pull out my trusty — not nearly as sharp as I’d like — knife.

  I hope there’s still enough Pixie-dust in me.

  I look around the office and spot a coffee mug, and take a minute to get a bottle of water out and clean it, and then wipe off my forearm. Finally, I set my last clean dish towel on the table.

  “What are you doing?” Sam asks.

  I grab a smoke and light it, trying to relax.

  I let it dangle from my lips and hold my arm over the mug, resting the knife along the scar from the last time I tried this.

  “What are you…” she begins.

  Don’t think.

  I drag the blade deep through my flesh.

  “Oh my God! What the hell?” Sam cries, jumping across the room to stop me.

  Motherfucker, it still hurts.

  “Trust me,” I say, and hold the dripping wound over the mug. I make a fist as blood streams out, slowly pooling in the bottom of the cup. I’m not sure how much it’s going to take, but after what looks like a couple of shots worth, I press against the wound, and then wrap it in the dish towel and try to stop the bleeding, bending it tight against my bicep.