The Blood Pawn

by Nicole Tillman

  When she's finally able to breathe again, Martina leans across the table and I do the same.

  “Brian's with Sully,” she whispers.

  Oh.

  Ooooooh.....

  I glance down the table. “Then why is he sitting by Tara?”

  “Because relationships here are frowned upon,” she explains. “Especially taboo ones.”

  “So, what, they pretend not to be together? It's the freaking apocalypse. Who cares?”

  Brian offers me a sad smile. “Plenty of people.”

  We all fall silent, thinking about how petty humans can be, but Cain shatters the trance when he slams his bottle on the table.

  “Five minutes,” he says, crumpling a napkin in his hand. “I'd hurry if I were you.”

  I can't stomach another bite. It's tepid and far too fatty for my liking, so I uncap the formaldehyde and THAT'S when everyone chooses to acknowledge how disgusting my meal really is.

  “What is that?” Tara asks, stretching to read the label. “That smells awful.”

  I tip the bottle her way. “Tastes even worse.”

  It goes down harsher than the first time, this time tasting of bitter lemons instead of cherries, and I force myself to chug every last drop. When I'm done, Brian grabs the bottle from my hand and reads the label.

  “Holy crap,” he whispers. “Formaldehyde? They make you drink this?”

  “Have to.” I pull back my lips in my widest, cheesiest grin. “It keeps me pretty.”

  They don't cringe like I expect them to. Nope. Not a single nose wrinkle. But there are plenty of laughs to spare. A guard comes by our table to tell us we're done – as if we need to be told – and we make our way back to the training room.

  My situation – my life, or lack thereof - might be hopeless, but as least I'm able to laugh about it. With the help of these people next to me, I think I might be able to survive the next few weeks.

  I just need to find my own version of survival; one that doesn't require me to have a pulse.

  Our trainers end the day with a 'jog'. Apparently, to them, that word means a five mile run around the perimeter of the building. We keep between the concrete and the chain-link fence topped with razor wire, gasping with physical exertion.

  I've always been a bit of a complainer, but there's no way I'm about to say a single word about the distance we have to run. The sun feels blissful on my face, it feels good to use muscles that have become stagnant in the last few days, and I find the pace isn't that horrible. It also doesn't hurt that my lungs no longer burn, my breath no longer chafes my windpipe, and I have a stamina that would have made Human Maya jealous.

  But even still, I'm not the fastest or the strongest among us. Cain keeps pace beside me, his tan shirt soaked through with sweat while mine remains bone dry. Behind him, Celeste runs, her blonde ponytail swinging with every step. Yards behind her are the rest of the crew, bringing up the caboose, huffing and puffing through the last couple miles.

  I may not be good at hand-to-hand combat, but I could get used this.

  “You're pretty fast,” Cain pants beside me. “For a zombie.”

  Hiding a wicked grin, I pump my arms faster, push my legs harder, and let him eat my dust.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  My cot in the dormitory is so much better than the concrete platform in containment, but I can't enjoy it. No matter how hard I try, I can't close my eyes and force myself to sleep or even zone out. All around the room, snores and shallow breathing reach out to me, taunting me.

  I'm jealous that everyone else gets to relax their muscles, recharge their minds, and escape to somewhere beyond these walls. I bet they dream about their loved ones, their homes, swimming in the ocean, laughing without worry. Good things. Beautiful things.

  I miss it. I miss having dreams, both in sleep and during my waking hours. I miss plans and goals and preparing for my future.

  Maybe if I'd known my life would come to a screeching halt at seventeen, I would have done things differently.

  I would have been freer with my words.

  I would have embraced the current day instead of waiting around for a better tomorrow.

  I would have hugged a little tighter, loved a littler fiercer.

  But that's all gone now. I am what I am, and I have to accept that.

  A little before sunrise, the lights flicker on above our heads. Their humming joins the sound of waking bodies, and I hurry to my locker before anyone else can wipe the sleep from their eyes. Fresh uniform in hand, I make my way to the bathroom and get ready as fast as I can. The spray from the shower feels odd against my skin, but I don't have time to reflect on why. I want to be ready before anyone else has a chance to come in, especially any of the guys.

  I've always been a pro at getting ready in a pinch, so in ten minutes time I'm dressed, my teeth are brushed, and I have my hair pulled to the top of my head in a messy bun. When a thick lock of hair falls out as I'm brushing it, I simply flick it into the trashcan below the sink. One more thing for me to worry about; one more thing I'm choosing to ignore.

  “That's disgusting.”

  I jolt and turn to find a short, fair-skinned girl standing at the door. She's cringing at the ball of hair I just disposed of.

  “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  She flicks her long, black and red dreadlocks over her shoulder and approaches me.

  “Sorry. That was rude.” Her hand extends between us. “Kaylee.”

  I shake it and try my best to smile. “Maya.”

  “Can you do me a favor, Maya?”

  Instantly, I'm skeptical of her. I don't know what she could possibly want from me or what I could even do for her.

  “That depends on the favor, I guess.”

  Her full lips tilt up and she points to the sink basin.

  “Sit there and let me do your makeup.”

  I stare.

  She stares right back, smile unwavering.

  “Come again?”

  “Those blotches?” She points to my cheeks where the sores are still red but no longer filled with puss. “They're driving me crazy, so I know they're annoying you.”

  My eyes fall to the blue tile lining the floor.

  “I've been avoiding mirrors.”

  “With good reason,” she says with a chuckle. “You let me cover that and I'll let you have my apple at breakfast.”

  Are we bartering?

  Really? Am I that grotesque?

  Not that it matters. What do I have to lose?

  I hop up on the basin and wave to the bag she has tucked under her arm.

  “Go for it.”

  Kaylee and I work our way through small talk as she does my makeup. We chat about where we're from, how cold it is in the dormitory, the ridiculous blue wind suits the trainers wear; pretty much everything that comes to mind that feels like a safe subject.

  I try not to reminisce over all the times I sat on the sink basin at home and let my mother do my makeup, but it's hard. Especially with Kaylee's soft voice, softer hand, and kind eyes. She seems just as out of place as I am here, but when I look at her wild hair, tattoos, and scars, I wonder what kind of life she's lived.

  “All done.”

  I turn to the mirror. Running my hands over my face, I can barely tell there's any makeup there at all.

  “Wow. I look-”

  “A little less dead?” she supplies.

  Yup. That's pretty much it. But I have to ask...

  “Why on earth did you bring makeup with you?”

  When I look back, her smile slips.

  “No matter what state the world is in, there will always be people that expect you to look a certain way, to act a certain way. It's easier if you can slather on a coat of war paint and hide your flaws and weaknesses.”

  I'm speechless. I don't know what to say to that. When she glances down, my eyes follow hers to a set of red puckered scars running from the inside of her elbow all the way down to her wrist. It's clear there's day-old makeup
covering them, but she's rubbed most of it off in her sleep.

  “My father always made me keep them covered. Especially once we were neck-deep in the outbreak. He said, 'You can't be giving people ideas like that. You plant a seed of that nature and everyone will start trying to take the coward's way out.'”

  If my heart could hurt, it would ache for Kaylee. What kind of father says that to a child, especially their own? I can't imagine my parents saying anything like that to me. Even now, stagnant heart and all, they'd take me exactly as I am. Irreversible flaws and all.

  Covering her scars with my hand, I grip her forearm until she tilts her chin to face me.

  “This isn't weakness.” My voice is firm, unrelenting. Mostly because I'm pissed about what she's had to endure, and from her own flesh and blood no less. “If he thinks what you did is cowardly, he's the flawed one. Not you.”

  The bathroom door swings open and Kaylee jerks her arm away.

  “Morning, ladies.” Sully flutters the tips of his fingers in a wave before heading off to one of the shower stalls.

  “Good morning, Sully,” Kaylee and I say in unison.

  Before the shower curtain closes, Sully takes us in with a considering gaze. “I don't like it.”

  Kaylee and I exchange a look.

  “Don't like what?” she asks.

  “The makeup.” He twirls his finger in the air in our general direction. “Makes her look too tame. Too soft.”

  “Yeah,” Kaylee snaps. “That's kind of the point.”

  Grimacing, he shakes his head. “It doesn't suit her. Wrong color, wrong image, wrong everything.” His lips tighten with disapproval. “You let that freak flag fly, Winters. Don't cage the beast. It's okay if you're a little scary because it reminds everyone that you're special. You can do things the rest of us can't, and the higher ups will do well to remember that. So if you don't stand out, you may as well volunteer to be a target.”

  The curtain closes and the shower starts, Kaylee turns back to inspect my face, chewing the corner of her lip.

  “Crap. He's right.”

  I'm suddenly filled with a hit of apprehension I wasn't feeling before.

  “Why do I feel like I have way more to prove than the rest of you?”

  She wets a paper towel in the sink and hands it to me.

  “Because you do.”

  The extra stress of what everyone expects of me weighs heavily on my shoulders, and for the first time since I changed, I feel tired. Like I could close my eyes and drift away. But I know that's no longer a reality for me. I can't sleep. I can't eat the apple that Kaylee sets down on my tray at lunch. Can't even feign using the bathroom when the rest of the girls leave the training room to relieve themselves. I haven't had that urge since before I was taken to the lab. Which creeps me out, if I'm being completely honest.

  Inside the training room, everyone is already on their mats sparring. Cain and Martina tried for the entire lunch break to force feed me, but I wasn't having that. I drank my daily dose of preservative and let the meat grow cold. In the process of them arguing over me, we ended up being late.

  “Holebrook, Winters, get your butts in gear!”

  From across the room, Swanson waves her hands above her head, trying to get our attention. As if her voice didn't already carry all the way out into the hall.

  “Seems like she's in a good mood.”

  I shoot a look at Cain, conveying that I'm not having it today, and he better shut his mouth. Surprisingly, he does.

  “This is your fault,” I whisper as I weave in and out of the mats. “If you would have just dropped it, we could have been the first ones here.”

  “Well, if you would have cleared your plate like a good little soldier, I wouldn't have had anything to protest, would I?”

  Sometimes, whether he realizes it or not, Cain makes me feel like a child.

  No, worse than a child.

  An invalid.

  I don't need people taking care of me or telling me what's in my best interest. I need them to leave me alone so I can process.

  “You're worthless!”

  Cain and I stop walking and turn to where Celeste is screaming at her partner. Her partner who is holding the inside of his thigh, doubled over with pain. A partner I had a conversation with just this morning in the bathroom.

  Sully.

  “Can I get a partner who knows what they're doing?” she yells at her trainer. “This is pathetic!”

  Her trainer, a big gruff guy everyone calls Bob, shakes his head but offers no solution. He also doesn't offer to help Sully, so I do.

  Grabbing him under the arms, I haul him up until he can stand on his own. A furious blush paints his cheeks, but I care way less about his inability to fight and more about Celeste's inexcusable behavior.

  “Aim for her face,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “Maybe you can fix whatever it is she has going on up there.”

  Behind me, Cain laughs, but a pair of blazing blue eyes cut my way, not at all impressed by my joke. But just as quickly, she turns away.

  “C'mon, he's got this,” Cain says, pulling me toward the back of the room. Swanson is still staring at us, tapping her foot impatiently.

  “Training would be so much better if we had an actual zombie to practice on.”

  I freeze when Celeste's suggestion registers in my ear.

  “That way we know what to expect. We know how they operate. And if we accidentally kill one of them, who cares?”

  I turn to face her.

  Someone grabs my arm.

  “Winters,” Cain warns. “Let's go.”

  “We only have one disposable opponent here,” Celeste sneers, “and she's being wasted on Holebrook.”

  I lose it.

  The claws come out and I'm hurling my body, all one-hundred-and-twenty pounds of it, toward her. I slam into Celeste and feel my weight trap her against the mat. She screams, but it barely registers to me, and it stops registering to everyone else when I clamp a hand around her throat.

  My free hand rears back.

  I strike.

  Knuckles meet jawbone.

  I strike again.

  Blood pours from her nose.

  Multiple sets of hands come around me, pulling me away, but I continue to punch and kick, hitting air as I'm hauled away and restrained. My back presses against a chest as strong arms band around me, restricting my movements.

  Still I fight.

  Still I growl.

  There's a fire inside of me that I can't contain, nor do I want to. I want to hurt her. I want her to fear me. I want her to know that it's not okay to speak to people the way she does.

  “Get her out of here!” Celeste shrieks. “She needs to be muzzled!”

  Swanson steps up with Bob to help her to her feet. She's bleeding and tear-tracks stain her face.

  “Why?” my trainer asks. “She didn't bite you.”

  “No, but she could have!” Celeste points a thin finger at my face, jabbing it in the air for emphasis.

  “Yeah, well so could I,” Swanson says, “and I'll bet my teeth are sharper.”

  She grins, showcasing all her teeth. Celeste grimaces, even as Bob pulls her along with him toward the door, presumably to help her clean up.

  “You're all nuts!” she screams. “She's going to snap one day and kill us all. Just wait! She shouldn't even be here! She should be out there with the rest of them!”

  The door slams shut behind them, and when the room falls deathly silent, I slowly come back into my own and realize what I've done.

  I attacked her.

  I attacked someone I'm supposed to be working with.

  I lost control.

  “Are you okay?” Cain's voice is deep and ragged in my ear, and I realize I'm still fighting to get free.

  When I let my muscles fall limp, he releases his grip on me and I curl in on myself.

  What have I done?

  Swanson, never one to be ruffled by anything, takes me by the shoulders
and shakes me. Startled, I look up and meet her eyes.

  “Maybe now she'll think twice about who she crosses.” She smiles, and something about her face warms me. “That girl is as stupid as you are dead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I expect them to come for me, but no one ever does. Not the March, not Wilder, not even Paula. The guards don't blink an eye when I walk past them to wash the blood off my hands.

  No one says a thing.

  After sparring with Cain, a little half-heartedly on my part, we're all excused and the fifteen of us are escorted to the armory for a new phase of training. My friends hover near, no doubt waiting to see if I'm going to lash out again, but I don't. I won't let myself.

  For one brief moment, anger overtook my senses and I did something I thought I'd never do. But I know better now. I know what to do when I feel that prickle of heat.

  Turn around and walk away as fast as I can.

  “Maya.” Tara elbows me and I look up, realizing I've zoned out. “Pay attention. This is important.”

  Important? Yeah, well, so is not killing my other teammates. Maybe I should have been a little more focused on that from the very beginning.

  But she's right. If I can't do anything to change what I've done, the least I can do is focus on the task at hand.

  Judging by the rows of tables lined with pistols and rifles, I'd say that's about to be target practice. A man with a thick mustache, creeper glasses, and a nametag reading 'McCreaton' asks how many of us have ever shot a gun, and everyone in the room raises their hand.

  “Good to know,” he says. “Now pick a weapon, a box of corresponding ammunition, and follow me to the range.”

  Voices around us began to murmur in excitement, and it takes me a second to realize why.

  I grab Cain's wrist. When he looks down, I smile and it's not even forced.

  “We get to go outside and shoot?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” he says. “Should I get your leash?”

  Even though he's clearly joking, I can't help the sting of mortification that passes through me. I really should be on a leash, or at the very least, monitored closely.

  “Hey, Maya.” When I look up, all humor has vanished from his face. “I'm kidding. You're not an animal, no matter what Celeste thinks.”