Manipulated

by Kimberly Montague

  He looked my size and, as I neared him, he growled at me, protective over the body he was clawing at. Before he could think anything of it, I pulled out the knife and charged at him. He was strong, but stupid. I kicked him several times between the legs before he let go of my arm enough for me to shove the knife in his chest. He still fought, and my fear increased to irrationality. What if they couldn't die? I stabbed him again and again, warm blood sliding over my hands. I tried not to really think about it and kept stabbing. Finally, he slumped against me, and I had to take a few seconds to pull myself together. Shoving him off, I turned to the firefighter, but he just blinked at me.

  Screams farther away from me made me forget about the firefighter and crawl toward the screams. I wanted to throw up. I'd killed a human. But he was trying to kill a firefighter—a hero who was risking his life to save others. I never thought murder could be justified, but that argument justified it for me enough to give me the strength to get to my feet and go after another Infected.

  After my fourth Infected, I was starting to lose my energy. They were so strong, and it took so long to do enough damage to kill them. I caught glimpses of Brodie every now and again, but I hadn't seen Sammy anywhere. There were firefighters up high, working to get the fire out even though their teammates were being slaughtered—it amazed me, and I kept moving, kept fighting.

  I saw Brodie ten feet from me and stupidly stopped to watch him take out an Infected when another picked me up from behind and sent me flying through the air and into a fire engine. It winded me and left me dizzy. The roar of the fire seemed to be all I could hear, and the brightness of it stayed in my vision even when I closed my eyes. I tried to get up but stumbled.

  "I'm gonna kill you slowly, eat every piece of your face."

  I couldn't focus on the Infected in front of me, but I knew he was there. My head wasn't working with me, but I could feel the Infected's hands on my head as it tried to smash me back into the fire engine. I kicked what I hoped was its knee cap as hard as I could, and it howled in pain like some kind of animal. It dropped to the ground, bringing me with it. I didn't know where my knife was—maybe I dropped it when I hit the fire truck. Without a weapon, all I could do was punch and kick.

  The Infected had me pinned to the ground in no time as my equilibrium started to come back to me, and the dizziness cleared. He grabbed my head again, and I knew he'd smash it against the concrete if I let him, but he was strong and three times my size. I tried to kick between his legs, but he sat straddling my upper thighs. I grabbed his hands to keep him from lifting my head and remembered my wrist—I'd nearly broken it when I punched Brodie—wrists were fragile. Moving my fingers until I could feel the bones of his wrist gave him the chance to pull my head up, but I pushed and twisted on his wrists with all the strength in me and felt them break in my grasp.

  He howled again, and while I cringed inside at the way his bones broke in my fingers, I didn't hesitate to shove his ass off me. He came at me again as I rolled toward the fire engine, groping for my knife. Some angel or something must have been looking out for me because I just got my hands on it as he reached me. I brought it slicing through the air at his face and hit his right eye, cringing at the blood and just the thought of it. But I didn't stop, couldn't stop, I had to kill him before he recovered enough to kill me. I thought about movies, people always slit throats in movies. So I brought my hand up and sliced at his throat while he covered his face with his broken-wristed hands. He must have thought I was going to attack his face again because he seemed shocked that blood was pouring from his neck. I wasn't shocked though, and I sure as hell wasn't going to lie there all amazed like a stupid blonde girl in a horror movie. I sliced again at his neck and stabbed his chest over and over until he fell backward. Then I got up and kicked him just to be sure.

  When the screams had all but stopped, I leaned against a fire truck to catch my breath. My head felt fine—well as fine as it could after everything I'd done and seen.

  "Who are you?" A man in a firefighter uniform asked, shaking his head.

  I couldn't answer, didn't know how. I was no one. As I tried to think of a response, I saw a figure running toward me. Readying my knife, I stretched my aching neck and stood up straighter until I saw that it was Sammy. I ran for him and wrapped my arms around him. "I haven't seen you, I thought—"

  "Risa, it's your dad—come on."

  I nearly collapsed right then and there, but Sammy helped me move forward the two steps it took me to regain control. I sprinted as fast as my legs would carry me and pushed for faster. The truck door had been ripped off. Lara was on the ground, holding her shoulder, but she looked alert. My eyes traveled to Grams—she was hunched over a body. NO! I screamed in my head.

  I reached his side. A large piece of glass or something sharp was sticking out of his chest. Grams had her hands around it

  Tears poured down my face. "Dad? Dad? What happened?"

  "There was a little girl—" Grams explained, sounding distant and quiet. "One of those monsters was attacking her. We got out to try to do something—we couldn't just watch. Your dad—he attacked the thing with a piece of glass, but he—"

  "But he's gonna be okay." I grabbed his hand and squeezed so tight. "He'll be fine. You'll do something and fix him like you did me. He'll be okay."

  Strong, familiar arms wrapped around me from behind. "Baby."

  I tried to shrug Brodie off me, but he wouldn't budge. "He'll be fine, damn it." I leaned closer to him. "Dad? Daddy, you'll be okay, you hear me? Grams' gonna fix you up, and you'll tell me about your grandmother, and I'll tell you everything about my life. We're together now, so you'll be fine. Dad?"

  He opened his bloodshot eyes and looked directly at me. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. "Honey."

  "Daddy, no. You'll be fine!" I screamed and cried. "I need you, and you want to be with me, remember? You want to be my dad. You have to be okay." I looked up at Grams. "Do something! Please, do something!"

  "It punctured his lung, Risa. I—I—" Grams just shook her head.

  Dad looked at Grams. "Take her to Kelly. If Kelly's—if she's—" He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped my hand.

  Grams leaned closer to him. "Scott, I swear to you, she'll always have a place in my home. No matter what."

  He looked toward me, but just beyond me. "Brodie—"

  "I will love her and protect her until the day I die." Brodie's voice was so clear and strong. How could he be so strong?

  "Risa." He squeezed my hand again and grimaced, coughing several times, and more blood appeared on his lips.

  "Daddy," I cried, clutching his hand to my face.

  "Always love you, honey. Always wanted you."

  "I love you too, Daddy." I pulled his hand closer to me. "Dad, please don't leave me. Please don't go."

  But he just smiled a very small smile and became very still, all the light left his eyes.

  "No!" I cried and bent over him, Brodie's arms still wrapped around me. "No!" No, no, no, I repeated in my head so many times, begging for it to be a nightmare or something, anything other than real. We'd just gotten back to each other. We were going to have a real father-daughter relationship. He loved me and wanted to take care of me and wanted to know about my life. He wanted to be my dad. How could we get there—to that point--only to have it taken away like this? How was that fair? What had we done to deserve this?

  I'm not sure how long I stayed crouched over his body like that. Brodie tried to get me to move away, but I couldn't leave him. Where was the ambulance? Where was the clean white gurney to take him someplace clean and comfortable away from Infecteds and fire and bodies? He deserved that. He deserved more than that.

  When I finally pulled myself together enough to look up, I found faces staring at me I didn't know. Several, maybe ten—all firefighters—all full of sympathy and pain.

  One of them stepped forward. "I spoke to you earlier."

  I didn't remember, I didn't care—no, that was
n't true. I remembered his voice. He asked me who I was. I shook my head and stared at Dad again. His words rang out in my brain, You've been through so much and you keep fighting, keep surviving. I'm so proud of you, honey. He was proud that I was strong. I had to be strong. I put my chin up and answered the question the firefighter had asked earlier. "My name is Risa." I looked back to Dad's peaceful face. "I'm his daughter." Tears still spilled down my cheeks, but I held the sobs in.

  The firefighter nodded. "We all would have died without your help and your friends." He looked at the ground sheepishly. "There are too many bodies. We're just supposed to leave them."

  Was he serious? They'd leave him here? No casket or even hole in the ground? No tombstone I could visit?

  "But we can bring back our teammates." He looked to the firefighters around him, and they all nodded. "We'd like to take your dad—have him buried properly with our teammates. If that's okay with you."

  I couldn't speak, couldn't get anything past the massive lump in my throat. I simply nodded and bent over Dad, sobbing softly.

  Brodie's voice was shaking. "His name was Scott Neely."

  "Scott Neely," the firefighter repeated. "I won't forget that." He kneeled down next to me. "You need to go now, Risa. The National Guard is on their way here. You and your friends—" He looked up behind me. "You need to go. I've got him. I'll take care of him."

  Brodie wrapped his arm around my chest again and pulled me back. I kissed Dad's hand again and pulled free. "I'm so sorry, Dad," I whispered and let Brodie pull me away from him.

  Pointless

  I vaguely remember Brodie carrying me into his room. I remember him pulling me into the shower with him and watching the blood flow down the drain as he scrubbed my hands and arms. I think he asked me if I wanted him to leave me alone, but it was like a memory of a dream—far away and unreal. Besides, I didn't really know what I wanted except to have Dad still alive.

  I woke up in the middle of the next day, clutching at my neck.

  "What is it, baby?" Brodie asked, his voice all scratchy. "Baby, what are you doing?"

  "My locket—Dad gave me—it's—" I threw the blankets off me and climbed out of bed, heading for the door. "I have to find it. I have to—"

  "It's here, Risa. It's here." He jumped out of bed and went to the tall dresser.

  I rushed to him and snatched it from him, clutching it to my chest. "Don't ever touch it," I yelled, glaring at him.

  He wrapped his arms around me, and I tried to shove him away, but he just held me tighter until I calmed down.

  "It's all I have of him," I said quietly.

  "I know. I'll always try to keep it safe for you." He held me quietly for several minutes. "Sunshine? Baby, that chain is too thin. You can't keep it on all the time, it'll—it might break."

  I stared at it in my hands, knowing he was right. It was an antique, but I had to keep it with me. I had to wear it. "I don't know what to—"

  "Hang on." He opened a drawer in one of the low cabinets beside the bed and rooted around for a minute before pulling out a black cord with what looked like a shark's tooth hanging from it. "This is stronger than the chain. The rest of it looks really strong, so you won't have to take it off now except in the shower."

  I watched him as he fixed my necklace for me, feeling drained again and grateful and empty and so sad. "I don't have a picture of him to put in there."

  He looked up at me and smiled softly. "You didn't open it up yet?"

  I shook my head. He finished threading the locket onto the cord and tied it in a knot, pulling it to check its strength. Then he opened it and handed it back to me. Inside was a picture of a man I didn't know, but his features were familiar and opposite him was a young man about my age that looked like—Dad. At the same age, I could clearly see the same nose on his face as mine, the same blond hair, and the same stubborn chin.

  For some reason, it didn't make me sad to look at that picture. He was smiling so arrogantly, almost laughing, and he seemed so full of life. It was a different time for him—I wasn't even a possibility yet. It felt like I was getting a glimpse of him, getting to know him better even though he was gone. It gave me a tiny bit of peace… enough peace to step forward and curl into Brodie's arms.

  He squeezed me tight. "I wish I could bring him back for you, baby."

  I nodded, knowing that. I'd seen it in his eyes all night. He was in pain. Whether it was sadness over Dad's death or sadness over seeing me in pain, I didn't know—probably a little of both. "I need a picture of you for the other side."

  "What do you need a picture of me for? You're gonna see me every day for the rest of you life whether you want to or not."

  He was teasing, but I was incredibly serious. "I'll always want to, Brodie. But I still—something might happen—"

  He kissed me, brushing his lips lovingly against mine. "Lie down and rest some more. I'll go find you a picture."

  I walked to the bed and stared at it. The idea of closing my eyes without Brodie next to me made me uneasy. There were so many things to have nightmares about now that I was scared to wake up by myself.

  "Risa?" he questioned from the doorway.

  You're being a baby. Suck it up and get in bed, I told myself. But why? Why was I intent on being a hard-ass? What was wrong with needing Brodie when I'd just lost my dad? I stuck up my chin and turned to him. "Yeah, cuz I'm sure you have someone better to lie in bed with."

  His smile was slow, and he shook his head almost as slowly. "Now that's some sarcasm I can live with."

  I didn't smile but looked up at him tiredly as he came to stand next to me. "I don't wanna be needy."

  "Well, it just so happens no one's on my schedule tonight, so I've got some free time." He let out a dramatic sigh. "I might as well spend it with you."

  I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead to his chest, pulling some strength from him. Looking back up, I said softly, "Don't do me any favors."

  He chuckled and kissed me tenderly. "Lie down, watch some Star Wars, I'll just be a few minutes. If you fall asleep, I'll stay right beside you until you wake up. Or, you know, until someone better comes along." His wink and just him in general lightened up the weight on my heart a bit.

  "I love you."

  He took my face in his hands. "I love you too."

  I dreamed that Dad came back to life and was a zombie/psycho Infected and Brodie had to kill him. Needless to say, I was a little destroyed after that. Brodie just pulled my leg over his waist until I was straddling him and pushed my head down against his chest protectively. I listened to his heart beat with his arms around me.

  His voice was soft and dream-like. "Every memory I have of my mom includes me in the emergency room. When I was like three, I was sitting on the floor with blocks or Legos or some kind of building thing, and she stepped on one—must have been Legos. Anyway, she was barefoot and I guess it surprised her cuz she just started kicking them out of her way all over the floor. I remember crawling after them, thinking they'd get hurt—she lost her temper a lot. In her stupid fit, she stepped on my hand, breaking two fingers."

  I had the urge to step on her face. What an awful woman. "What did Grams do?"

  "Kicked her out," he said seriously. "I thought it was my fault for years. I didn't play with the Legos or anything that made a mess on the floor. When she came back, I was around seven and was out to impress her. I don't even know why I cared—she was a damn junkie with track marks around her ankles and up and down her arms. But she was still Mom, you know.

  "Well I thought I'd impress her on my skateboard doing lame ass tricks up and down the street, but she just laughed at me. She told me I was just a baby and real skateboarders could get higher than a few inches off the ground. I'd only had the damn thing a few months, but I wanted to be a real skateboarder—I wanted her to be proud of me. So I stayed out there all day and into the night. Exhausted and sore from falling down too many times, I was too tired to recover fast and my wrist broke one too many falls.
Grams was pissed when we showed up in the emergency room just as she was supposed to get off. Mom was gone by morning."

  He squeezed me tight. "Baby, I'd trade my mom's worthless life for your dad's in a heartbeat. I know it doesn't help, but he really loved you. Even though you don't have him here with you, you always have that. You'll always know he loved you and was proud of you."

  He was right, I was lucky. Deep down I knew that, but on the surface, I was still really furious and so damn sad. But Brodie was right—I had good things I could remember and think about. And I was grateful that I hadn't lost him months earlier when I still thought he didn't care. We got to know each other a little, we got to straighten things out, and we got to say goodbye—it was more than a lot of people got and yet it would never ever be enough.

  Brodie rubbed my back and turned on the rest of the Star Wars movie he'd put on earlier. I listened to it, peeking at it every now and then, but spent most of my time staring out the window. I felt rested, but still so drained. I couldn't sleep anymore, but doing anything other than lying in Brodie's arms was not on my agenda.

  Darkness descended before I knew it and Brodie sat up, holding me close to him. He moved to the edge of the bed with me still on his lap. I put my arms around his neck, and he stood up, holding me until I wrapped my legs around his waist. He walked to the DVD player and picked out the next Star Wars movie.

  "Am I heavier now that I'm infected?" I asked slowly, quietly.

  "No, sunshine. You still weigh nothing."

  "But I'm stronger. I have more muscles now," I reasoned. "Shouldn't that make me heavier?"