by P. J. Post
Emily jumps over the table and gets in her face. “Casey, you are a Pixie Girl!”
Emily jumps to her feet, standing on the table.
Pixie joins her, limping around the table with excitement.
Emily looks up and shouts as she does a little dance. It’s like she’s had a wish granted. “This is so totally awesome. We’re superheroes!”
Sam and me stare at each other again, this time we laugh.
If only it were true.
And then a series of explosions rock the night, and the emergency lights go out.
§§§§§
I shelter my face against the cold and the fierce wind that’s been whipping Freemont unmercifully all morning, and look up. The cell tower rises above the Button Eyes shuffling around on the higher roof across the alley, above the gas tanks, and on up into the gray and smoky sky.
The fires are closer now.
The streets are clogged with Button Eyes, driven before the flames, and in some cases spreading them.
Even if we make it to the far side of the next block, I’m not sure we’re going to be close enough to the river to make it, but…one step at a time.
Samantha leans against my back, sliding her arms around my waist, careful of my latest wound, and lays her chin on my shoulder. “Figure it out yet? No rush, I mean, we have, gosh…probably hours before we have to face the horrible prospect of burning to death in the advancing fires.”
Her eyes are already changing, turning Pixie blue around the edges. It’s a subtle change, most wouldn’t even notice, but I do, I’ll always miss the crystal blue innocence from that first day she raised her goggles.
The dark circles under her eyes are gone and so is the sunken look.
She doesn’t just look healthier, she looks healthy, thin, but there it is. They all do.
Keats drops his greasy canvas duffel into the snow in front of us. “I got an idea. I don’t know what I was savin’ these for, but it might as well be this.”
I kneel down and unzip the bag. It’s full of brass bullets and shotguns shells.
“Grenades?” I ask with surprise.
“Keep digging, in the satchel.”
Under it all is a canvas satchel, about the size of a lunch bag. I undo the straps and open it. Three pink cylinders are lined up like sausages, each about the size of a can of deodorant with a ring and pin set into the top.
“What are they?” I ask.
“Incendiaries.”
“And?”
“And…we duct tape them to the legs of the tower, the ones next to the street, rig up a pull wire so we can detonate them from up on the roof.”
“Are they bombs?” Samantha asks.
“Not if I understand right, they just set shit on fire.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“They melt steel.”
“Well shit, that should do it, right?” I ask, grinning.
“Should? The tower should fall right the fuck over, if the guy was telling the truth, but what’s the truth anymore? I’ve heard lots of shit over the last few months and almost none of it was true. It’s all luck now. How’s yours been lately?”
“Actually, pretty damn good,” Samantha says, and kneels down and kisses my cheek again before walking over to the edge of the roof and staring across the alley. “Hang on a sec, you’ve never used them?”
“I managed a dry cleaners,” Keats says indignantly.
“Cool beans,” I say. “It’ll be an adventure.”
“We should keep one back in case the first two don’t work,” Samantha says.
“Do you think they’ll ignite the gas tanks? Like if I threw one at them?” I ask.
“I don’t want to be anywhere near Freemont when you test it,” Keats says.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Wait, what about the gas tanks?” Samantha asks, biting her lip. “Will they melt the tanks?”
Keats almost laughs, but it comes off more like old-man grumpy. “We need them zombies, as many as we can lure down there. Once we get them charges set, we’ll use the zombies as a sort of shield, between the incendiaries and the gas tanks.”
“And?” I ask.
“And then, we cross our goddamned fingers, hope for the best, pray; whatever your gig is…I think you should probably get on that,” he says, and then lights up a cigarette.
Samantha walks over and kisses me like we’re Bonnie and Clyde. “We totally have a gig now.”
“Great,” I say sarcastically, before sweeping her up in my arms.
“You two need a room,” Keats says through cigarette smoke as he tries to ignore us.
“Fuck the room, I’ll give you the whole goddamned world,” I whisper to her.
§§§§§
I peak through the black-iron fencing and the snow-covered bushes. It’s weird to be standing on the ground again without worrying about the zombies. But the street on the other side of the fence is thick with them; I can smell them.
Freemont’s been fun and all, but I think it’s time to go.
I climb back up the front leg of the tower, brushing the snow away from the ladder-like cross-members as I go, and set the second device, duct taping it to the structure. I take the spool of packing string we found at the warehouse and loop it through the bomb’s pull ring and carefully tie it off. We found some tools and messed with the cotter pin, hopefully, it will pull out as planned.
I glance up to see everyone leaning over the roof above me like they’re watching a goddamned parade.
Jem and Emily are in the middle, tired eyes staring out of recently cleaned faces. Holly and Casey are standing next to Jem, snuggled into warm coats, Holly’s got one arm of her coat tied up out of the way; they’re cleaned up pretty well too. Samantha is on the far side with Keats. Shinji, Carlton and Larry are further down, the Deathly Hallows. They still look homeless, didn’t need any girly shit, that’s how Shinji said it.
They’ve been keeping to themselves since last night.
It’s like they know they’re slowly being ostracized. I didn’t mean for it to go down like this, but it did, just like lots of stuff I could never have predicted or planned for — or even wanted.
“This could blow up guys, get back,” I shout at them.
Jem and Emily nod, Jem’s little face is especially serious, but none of them move. That’s not true. Emily waves at me.
Jesus.
“I could go Raiders and melt all over the place, like at any moment, get back, you don’t want to see that.”
“What’s a Raider?” Casey asks, her chin resting on the back of her hands. She refuses to wear a cap and her pigtails are already showing silver as they whip around in the wind.
Jem still looks serious. “Can people really melt?
“Samantha, do something,” I shout.
“Hey, they’re your kids too. Maybe if you didn’t let them play with guns and knives, things might be different, but…” She shrugs. “Very questionable parenting, Lane, very, very questionable.”
I scowl as I climb over and grab the string from the other device, and twist them together before running them over the next cross-member up. From here I gently uncoil the string as I make my way up to the roof, one careful step at a time.
I pull lots of slack into the line and then make a safe place for the spool in a snow drift below the parapet wall.
“We need to be downstairs when we set it off, just in case,” I say.
“Want us to check the building?” Holly Hawk asks.
“No, we’ll just stay inside the ladder access room, whatever the fuck it’s called. I’ll be up on the ladder near the hatch, we’ll fit.”
“Testy this morning?” Samantha asks.
“Just worried about you and the girls,” I say.
Keats folds his arms. “I don’t rate?”
“Sure you do,” I say and grin, but the joke falls flat. He knows I’ll sacrifice everyone to save my girls, including myself. Keats knows he’s doubly fuck
ed if it comes down to it; makes the whole fighting for survival thing a little awkward.
Shinji knows it too, but overnight, he’s become the leader of his own gang. He thinks he’s got a buffer, backup.
“Time to make some noise?” Holly Hawk asks.
“Yep, let’s call us some zombies, here zombie zombie zombie, c’mon girls,” Samantha coos. “Ready?” she asks me and winks.
Keats shakes his head and grumbles as he walks over to the hatch. He found a folding lawn chair and takes a tired and heavy seat. “We’re all going to die, you realize that, don’t you, and you’re the one that’s going to kill us.” He lights up a cigarette and tries to ignore me.
The whole roof is covered in snow, the rooflines blurring together against a gray sky, sitting next to the open hatch with his black parka, chinos and shotgun, he looks like a paramilitary ice-fisherman.
“Don’t be a crotchety old man,” I shout at him.
“What’s a crotchety?” Casey asks.
Samantha grins and ruffles her hair.
“What?” Casey asks, her pigtails bouncing with indignation.
“Yeah, let’s do this,” I say, and climb down to the courtyard.
The buzzing’s back, droning so low down in my brainstem that it’s almost like a vibration rather than a sound, it’s — fucking weird, that’s what it is.
I’m never going to get used to it.
I turn back to the street, and look over the bushes to the trendy hipster stores lining the other side of the block. The tower should crush Bill’s Tweed and Feed. It looks like a trendy second-hand men’s shop from here, hats and dress clothes and suits, but the windows are dark, it could be anything, even another head shop — the memory of the orange and velvet couches flash through my mind, you’re useless, that’s what she said, but she was being playful, thawing. I was just too stupid to get it.
Where’d you get the condom?
Buds, she says…way back then she was already thinking about…I’m never going to understand girls, Samantha.
I glance up at her and she raises an eyebrow, like she knows I’m thinking something.
I don’t need to understand her, it’s easier just to love her.
I kick-shuffle my way to the gate, clearing a path through the snow, making sure I have nothing to trip over when I come back. I stop near the gate and trace a line up the tower, remembering where the string is looped.
“Careful,” Emily shouts.
And they’re all lined up at the parapet wall again — watching, except…
“Keats, get your old butt over here,” Samantha shouts.
I wonder if this was how football stars felt when their friends and family showed up to root them on.
Of course, a bad play didn’t get the quarterback eaten.
Samantha looks just as playful now as she did when we woke up this morning, and now that I think about it, just like she did that morning outside Buds.
I’m a moron.
I grin as the Button Eyes watch me from out on the sidewalk, shoving against one another for a better position as the snow falls from their hair and shoulders. It’s just as fucked up over on the alley side, Button Eyes reaching through the fence, nasty, black-fingered frost-bitten claws, moaning and groaning from equally blackened mouths.
I hear Samantha check the magazine and slide the bolt on her rifle.
When I look up, Keats is next to her, holding Allen’s .45.
Just in case.
There’s a simple, but heavy padlock on the gate. I pull my own .45 and take a deep breath, hoping this works, because so far, it hasn’t ever worked. Movies are bullshit. I stand back and hold the gun as far out as I can get it, stopping inches from the steel loop of the lock.
The goddamned zombies are keeping me from getting the angle I’d like.
I turn my head and close my eyes, but can’t help peeking one last time.
“Do it!” Samantha shouts.
“You want to come down here and do it?”
“Do I need to?” I can see her face light up from here. She’s full of confidence, support, trust.
I grin as I turn…and…
Pull the trigger.
The ghouls go nuts, bumping into each other, screaming and shaking the fence.
Snow flies into the air.
Fuck me.
The lock is bent to shit, but still intact.
I turn away and shoot it again.
And again.
And again.
Jesus, just a little help…
I grab the lock and twist it, it’s open, sort of, or just really broken…I stop before prying it loose.
I grin to myself, fuck you lock.
As I watch the deadish townspeople through the gates and think about them rushing in when I open the damn thing, I feel a little like a redneck standing on the front porch, watching a tornado tear up the neighbor’s house. All I need is a phone to record the devastation and maybe, a beer. I examine the gate, I just have to pull the lock out of the loopy thing, and as soon as I do…they’re going to be on my ass.
Open the gate and run.
Open the gate and run.
Just open the gate…and fucking run.
“Lane!”
It’s Samantha.
I look up. “Kind of busy here!”
She smiles down at me. “I miss you.”
I know she’s trying to psyche me up, calm my nerves or whatever, and I’ll take it, a little Go Team, Go is a pretty good thing about now — it’s pretty fucking freaky-deaky being down here this close to them.
I take a deep breath and nudge the lock, twisting it around until it falls from the gate.
The gate shifts under their weight, and I leap back ready to turn, but it doesn’t open.
Stupid motherfuckers.
“Push it!”
I consider what the holdup is, and then kick the gate before jumping away like a kid afraid of a spider.
Nothing.
Shit.
I move to the hinge side and kick at it again.
The creatures shift to follow me, like a flock of birds and suddenly the gate swings back, nearly trapping me behind it.
The front rows of Button Eyes are full of townspeople. They’re dressed in khaki work clothes, professional winter-gray suits, fun sweaters, conservative dresses and stylish boots, like the volunteers up at the Red Cross tent, trying as hard as they could to cover their eyes, to ignore the world falling apart around them.
They just stare at me as if they’re unaware the gate is even open.
Time to go.
I take off.
I then I hear them behind me, crunching and shuffling across the snow, chasing me past the gas tanks. I leap even before I get to the tower and swing up onto the lower cross-members, playing monkey-boy as I climb as fast as I can.
Gun shots go off above me, the wet slapping sound of bullets hitting flesh surrounds me; some of the shots pierce the Button Eyes and bounce all around the alley, ricocheting everywhere.
“Stop, stop!” I shout. “Jesus, I’m clear.” I swing around by one hand and look down at the mess beneath me. The move opens up the wounds on my hand from when I jumped through the window last night.
A single drop of blood falls onto one of the dead Button Eyes, even as more of his buddies crowd around the tower, filling in the gaps like a high tide rushing in.
Human shield — check.
I still need to figure out how to light these tanks up on our way out of town.
Once I slide over the parapet wall, Samantha is on me again, her arms around my neck, her lips on mine — it’s hard to kiss someone that’s constantly smiling.
I kiss her back as Emily and Casey whoop and holler at us, “Sammy and Laney, sitting in a tree...” they chant. Even Holly is grinning as best she can.
Jem frowns. “You’re bleeding again.” She points at my hand.
Samantha unwraps the old bandage and ties a new one in its place, smiling the whole time. “We�
�re going to make it, we’re going to get a second chance — I just know it.”
“We could all be dead in a few minutes,” I say as I flex my fingers, testing the bandage.
“We won’t. Didn’t I just say I had a feeling? Ever since I woke up this morning — we’re going to make it Lane, all of us.”
I kiss her cheek, and whisper, “I like the optimism, but don’t be too disappointed when the shit goes south.”
“It won’t, you’ve never let me down before.”
The stubble on her head is silver; her eyebrows are slowly turning too.
This is the coldest day so far this year, but none of my girls are wearing hats or beanies. Jem is holding her thick curly hair out of her face, waiting.
Emily and Casey’s eyes are getting their own blue treatment now as well. Casey was all about it an hour ago, staring at herself in the mirror, giggling and laughing, just being a little girl.
Keats hasn’t said anything, though, neither have the three amigos, but they have to know something weird is going on. They’re wearing two beanies each, and thick parkas and they still look miserable.
“Keats, ready to heat this place up?” I ask.
He looks across the street at the Tweed and Feed and shakes his head. “No. Not really.”
“Alright then, let’s do this thing! Heads up, kids, time to get downstairs. Keats, mind carrying Pixie?”
He picks her up and looks closely at her eyes. Pixie licks him. He grins and then studies my eyes, his face slipping from smiles to pointed curiosity.
I don’t know what he’s thinking, but he isn’t sharing, and that’s fine with me. Sometimes talk is overrated.
I go to the hatch and open it. Samantha goes first and helps Holly down, and then the other girls, and then the boys. I can tell they don’t trust me anymore, they’re scared too, especially Shinji. He had a front row seat to Allen’s end. I wonder if he knows how close he came to joining him.
I try to push the thoughts of last night out of my head, Allen, Brenda, poor little Patty, the memories from the hill — I have to be able to face Casey and Jem. I look down the ladder well to see them staring up at me, tense faces full of anticipation.
What else should I call this?
