La La Land: A Zombie Dystopian Novel (The Last City Series Book 2)

by Logan Keys

  Tommy grits into my ear, “You shouldn’t be here.”

  I jerk away, fighting the urge to slap him. “Just because you didn’t invite me, doesn’t mean someone else can’t. Cory was nice enough — ”

  People look over, starting to notice our argument.

  Baby tries to hold on to Tommy’s arm, but he rudely shrugs her off and grabs mine instead, pulling me away from Cory, sufficiently cutting off my retort. Cory looks like he’ll step in, but I shake my head at him.

  Tommy shoves us through the crowd, muttering under his breath, bits and pieces audible between his cursing. “I try my best to keep you away … here you are … everyone watching … God only knows what Simon … should stay out of things.”

  When we reach an empty hallway, he turns on me, ripping his beret from his head. “Trust me, this is not some sort of jealousy.”

  I cross my arms. “Well, that makes it all okay, then.”

  “What has he told you? Cory’s dangerous, Liza.”

  “That you two hurt someone, by accident. That they died.”

  “That’s what he said?”

  I get a flash. Cory’s sent me some sort of vision, a place in the jungle: Tommy and another soldier who’s lying on the ground with a hole in his head. It should bother me Cory’s eavesdropping, but he’s just making sure his side is heard. That, I can understand.

  It makes my blood curdle to see the scene with both of them standing over the body. “Who pulled the trigger, Tommy?”

  He looks like I’ve punched him in the stomach. At first, he can’t meet my eyes, but then his anger returns, full force. Tommy’s never had a long fuse. “You little ingrate. Here I am, trying everything in my power to keep you out of trouble, and you skip right into the worst of them all, listening to every lie he’ll tell you.” He stalks forward, his size swelling by inches. “What about you, Liza?” Tommy asks softly. “How do we know you haven’t killed a hundred innocent people? A little quick to judge for a spy, aren’t we?”

  Tommy’s just trying to hurt me back, and it’s working. My rational mind knows I’ve hit him in the wrong spot, but my emotions get the best of me.

  “Ingrate? Did I ask for this, Tommy? You think I’d choose to come here and be a suspect, guilty until proven innocent at every turn?” Tears fight to my eyelids, and I widen my eyes, hoping they won’t ruin my makeup. Not today — not on my special night! “Do you think I like being hung from a tree for doing nothing other than following you to this hellish place? For not knowing who I am! Cory’s able to give me back my memories. What would you do for a gift like that? Tell me, oh wise one, what exactly the hell should I be doing?”

  Tommy looks like he’ll combust. “He’s tricking you, Liza! Did he tell you he can do that? Control people, force them to do … things.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, like he can’t bear to even think about it.

  I try to calm us both. “Look, can’t we just have a nice time tonight? I don’t want things to end badly between me and you.”

  “He’s a liar. You barely know him.” Tommy sounds so weary, I almost feel guilty.

  “I barely know anyone,” I reply.

  His brown eyes narrow on mine with a pained look. “Is that how you feel? Even after all that’s happened with us?”

  “All that’s happened doesn’t seem to matter to you, either.” I growl in frustration. This conversation is making me sound juvenile. “Why am I even arguing with you? You left, remember? You have your new life here. Let me have mine.”

  I pivot to leave, but he stops me.

  “What did you mean before when you said ‘end between us’?”

  He’s clearheaded enough to notice my slip up.

  I open my mouth to spill the truth, when Baby approaches.

  “Tommy,” she says, “people are noticing, and not in a good way.”

  But Tommy seems as stuck as I am in a staring contest.

  “Shall we dance?” Cory says, helping me break contact by leading me away.

  “Sure,” I say, feeling like I’m losing my best friend.

  -81-

  “Tommy,” Baby says, pulling off her earrings. “She knows you care about her.”

  “Does she?” I cut a look over at the gorgeous thing in yellow.

  We’re back in my rooms, and Baby is distracting. Far too distracting, which makes me suspicious. Someone as beautiful as Baby shouldn’t even want anything to do with me. Everyone’s suspect. Everyone but one, and she’s leaving.

  I sit down, throw my hat onto the ground and unbutton the choking collar at my throat. “Did you know about this?”

  Baby doesn’t act confused. She knows I mean about Liza’s leaving. “I found out tonight, same as you.”

  And she’ll leave, thinking the one person she’s supposed to trust couldn’t be bothered anymore.

  Baby moves behind me, drapes her arms across my chest. I close my eyes, letting her smell and softness envelope me.

  “You’ve got too many things going on,” Baby says. “Let me worry about Liza, okay? I’ll go talk to her, if you want. But what about tomorrow? Your speech, the ambassadors. Have you decided?”

  “Huh?” I shrug out from her embrace. “What?”

  Baby comes around in front. “I’m just wondering what you’ll say.”

  “I’m not sure yet. I mean, Simon will probably script me a speech. What are you asking?”

  Baby sighs. “It will call for war. You ready for this?”

  “Yeah. No. Why are we talking about it right this very moment?”

  “Because I’m starting to wonder if you’ll do something dangerous, like go against Simon. I don’t think that’s a good idea; I think you should just do whatever he wants.”

  Her eyes are wide, and her hands are fisted in her yellow gown. Something’s spooked her.

  “I can’t think about that right now.”

  She grabs my hands. “I mean it, Tommy. You can’t go against him. Promise me.”

  I wrench away. “I need to look for Liza. Are you even hearing me?”

  Baby latches on to my shirt, drags me toward her, and in desperation her mouth finds mine. It ignites me, and all of my frustration pours into our kiss. I back her against the wall, caging her with my larger frame; it makes me feel big and strong — in control.

  But I’m not.

  My mind wanders to Liza.

  I break away, but Baby clings, moving all of her perfect curves in a perfect way.

  I groan as my body responds. “Baby,” I say, lingering. “What’s your real name?”

  “What?” she whispers, raking her nails down my chest, lighting the pathways on fire.

  “Your real name,” I rasp out.

  Baby pauses to stare into my eyes, then she kisses me once, deeply. “Kendra,” she replies.

  I open my mouth, but she covers it with a hand. “Please, don’t use it. That girl, she died a long time ago. Baby is a soft name. No one sees you as a threat.”

  She kisses my ear, nibbling on the lobe, then she hums to me, “You’ll have to send them to war, Tommy. I know it’s hard, but you’ll have to do it.”

  -82-

  At first, Pike’s wary of me and my new status. He senses the change in me, the roadblocks to my dreams, the strength we share from Joelle.

  He knew Joelle wasn’t far off, either, so he remained quiet, aloof, until hunger had forced him to return.

  And when he did, I met him at the gate.

  The town was gone, burned away, and the townsfolk left were changed. Behind Pike stood Lotte, a bloody-eyed figure under his control.

  Pike waits for me to make the first move, but I don’t, having no idea how my strength merits next to his.

  When I keep my patience, he smiles, as if he has a plan.

  And he does.

  He moves out of my way, and there, behind him stands Joe. Or, what’s left of him.

  No recognition in his eyes, only madness, and if he’d had anything good to offer as this creature, he’d lost it t
he moment he harmed his own son. I can feel the offer to give up my own sanity and join him, but I haven’t done that yet.

  He strikes first, and I let him.

  Down I go, onto the floor of sticks and sand. They dig into my back, but I don’t feel pain as much as I feel the throb of new power vibrating through my limbs, asking me to fight.

  My blood sings, and some of it runs down my chest from a deep nick at my throat.

  Joe backs off, waiting for me — rabidly dancing from one foot to the other. Every so often, like a good little dog, he looks to his master, Pike, something that makes me angrier than anything else.

  I could weep at what they’ve made my love into: a demon in chains, an empty vessel of death. A representation of my shallowness, for I still feel a tug toward him; an emotion that, if I gave it sway, could stop the world for me.

  I rise and creep forward, trying to see Joseph as an opponent. But I can’t. His face is still the strongly formed one I fell for, and his hands are still the ones that touched me in a gentle, passionate way for the first time. They once saved my life from Toby. They saved Cara.

  Pike laughs; a startled sound. “Are you crying, fledgling?” He moves into my peripheral. “You weep, while you should be killing.” Pike glares at Joelle, though I see admiration, a longing. He wants her approval, like any son. Only, his mother’s a teenaged child. “Is this how you plan to defeat me, with your follower of one, who’s going to cry us to death?”

  Pike motions for Joe to continue. “This should be swift.”

  Joe comes at me again, and I block his attempt to decapitate me. Instead, I grab onto him like a wrestler, hugging him close, where I feel his unkempt hair against my cheek. I look deep into his red eyes, and the vacant stare makes me whimper.

  “Come back to me,” I whisper.

  We shake from the force of pressing on another — me, holding him tight while he fights to murder me. I clutch his face, force a kiss, try to make him see.

  One needle slices through my tongue and my lip, but I keep on … until he wins.

  We both fall to the ground, and I think I see something glimmering in his eyes while he grasps my throat. Why doesn’t he rip it out already?

  “Jo — seph,” I croak.

  Nothing.

  Instead, I close my eyes to the pain I see there, willing me to end him. Then, with a shout, I shove my hand through his neck.

  Warm liquid rains down on me.

  My other hand finds his chest, feels the lack of a beating heart. I count the imaginary beats for it, opening my eyes.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  “Goodbye, my love.”

  I scream out my rage and pain as I shove my hand through his ribcage and pull out his heart.

  It rolls from my fingers, still alive until we burn it.

  My lover lies across my body, his blood gushing out onto my face, my arms, my throat — all of the places that once belonged to him — warming the coldness that’ll follow me into eternity.

  I want to mourn.

  I long to feel him — the real him — one last time.

  Instead, an understanding takes place.

  The last tether to my humanity has just pulled tight. I let go of it.

  -83-

  The internationals are partying like none other; they can be heard all the way to my rooms.

  After the fourth glass of champagne, the sparkling ballroom had blurred at the edges. Cory had made me look like I knew how to dance, effortlessly guiding me around. He’d been quiet, sensing the state of my emotions.

  With menacing disapproval, Simon had watched me from the council’s table, but I couldn’t be bothered with his suspicion. It’d become too much to see Baby cheer Tommy from his brooding with a kiss on his collar, and whenever her laughter had tinkled across the room, I’d fought back a creeping bitterness.

  Alcohol had further heated my anger until it had made me irrational.

  Something akin to hatred had dogged at my heels until I’d rudely excused myself early and fled into the night.

  That feeling had followed me out of the ball and had shadowed me back to my rooms. It had helped me pack and it had carried me into the night to find Phillip.

  I’d leave, and never look back.

  A deep and dark bitterness has taken hold of me, hatred that’s sharper being transvested from love.

  Now, over at the international’s quarters they’ve erected a giant tent, the sound of music pouring out.

  When I approach the entry, I’m stopped at the door.

  “Strip,” one guy says with a smirk.

  “Excuse me?”

  A few half-naked party goers pass by, excited, laughing, chilled by the night, and peeking into the tent, I watch them wait to be dusted in colored powder. Billows of green, purple, and yellow plume out of the tent flap, making me cough.

  “You can’t enter unless you take those off,” one says while the other shrugs and offers, “It keeps the weapons out.”

  I leave in frustration to store my stuff in an alleyway, and reluctantly, I strip down to my tank top and underwear. It’s dark enough I don’t feel totally naked; still, I hug myself as I again approach the tent.

  They let me by, and before I can say no, the girls inside dump powder over my head. Everyone’s covered in the stuff, and some have even decorated their faces in glitter or war paint.

  First people I spot in the crowd are the two Englishmen.

  “What’s this about?” I ask Charles, who’s green from head to toe.

  “War! Tomorrow they’ll announce that we’ll be leaving.” He offers me a drink. I shake my head, but he still holds it up. “It’s a celebration of life, Liza. You might not get another chance.”

  I take the offering and mutter, “Before death,” then louder, “Party tonight, because tomorrow we dine in hell, right?”

  I’d be long gone before then, I hope.

  Most of the partygoers are in the center of the tent, dancing barefoot — well, bare almost everything. Powder intermittently dumps from the sky, making them a different color than they were. At the front, the DJ’s booth changes the song, mixing them from all sorts of regions. The current one is foreign but with a deep bass that shakes the ground. The singing is in in French … maybe?

  And then I realize I must know the language.

  “Bonne chance à vous et les vôtres,” I say, testing my theory.

  Charles touches his drink to mine. “Votre français est très bon. Je vous remercie, Liza et idem pour vous.”

  I smile, relaxing a little for the first time this evening. The drink’s good … whiskey mixed with something else. I take a bigger sip.

  Someone just ahead of me turns around, glowing eyes catching the light and caging it into two pointed dots that I recognize.

  “Just the man I was looking for,” I shout when he comes near. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “How did you?” he asks, motioning to his painted chest, arms, and face.

  “The hair,” I reply sarcastically, his wolf eyes shining even brighter when we move into the shadows. “Phillip,” I say into his ear, then take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  “You sure?” he asks, then checks my glance, and with a smile, yells over the music, “Okay. That’s good news. I’ll have to get some things together. Meet me in two hours by the moat.”

  We separate just as brilliant, blue powder dumps onto the crowd.

  Someone waits for me at the exit — Cory, and he’s shirtless.

  The whiskey has made it impossible to pretend I don’t appreciate the male specimen that is Cory Prince.

  He’d also gone with camo war paint, probably to keep him from being recognized as a council member. From between the camouflage, sly blue eyes watch me. Handprints from dance partners, have smeared the paint on his chest. Many different ones, it seems.

  Cory makes fast work from ballroom to grinding the locals, I think, and he laughs out
loud.

  When he approaches, I yell over the music, “I’m sorry,” then laugh at myself. Yes, he can hear my thoughts, but it needed to be said. “I really am.”

  I think about what a twit I’d been at the ball, about how embarrassed I am that I was so focused on my anger, Cory no doubt had a bad time.

  “Want to remedy that?” he says.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I nod and then take his hand. He leads us onto the dance floor, where drums play a tribal sound, and glitter instead of powder rains from the sky.

  Everything glimmers in the strobe light, and I gape at the ceiling, hold up my hands to catch the shining sprinkles, spinning in the glorious display until the whiskey in my stomach sloshes and I have to stop.

  When I look at Cory, he’s gold from head to toe. He locks fingers with mine, and without a smile, he edges closer.

  We sway, and the muscles of my tight shoulders ease into fluid looseness. This type of dancing is nothing like what we’d done at the ball. The stiff-necked, rigid-backed turns have changed to a sway, a give and take, a pull and push, a lips so close I can taste them, arms looped around one another, chest-to-chest pair of two that’s slowly melting into one.

  I leave my mind blank, but the feeling is known; I’m heating up, and he’s got to sense that.

  When we lock eyes, I notice his hold a purplish glow. A memory tries to unearth itself, and I shut it off, wanting to focus on the here and now.

  Cory tilts his head; a perfect gesture that lets us share breath.

  The next song is faster, interrupting the moment, and Cory’s eyes shift back to the same deep blue. I wonder if I was seeing things, but we dance and dance until I forget that I forgot.

  After I’ve sweated off most of my powder and glitter, and my hair has come loose from every pin, Cory helps guide me toward a tent opening where the cool air stops the spinning.

  He lifts the side so we can sneak under and into the breezy darkness. I suck in large mouthfuls of air until the buzzing subsides.

  Once we find a spot to sit, Cory turns to me. “What are you thinking?”

  I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Um. Well. Tonight, I found out I know French.”