by Marlin Grail
The father and mother almost sound as if they’re fighting for who gets to talk first. The mother dominates and replies, “Yes. Still, it was a wonderful surprise to see him with you all! Our son’s observer said he had his eyes on your location for a while, and that’s why he concluded it would be a great training area for our son to be at.”
Someone was watching our area closely. It was just convenient for the boy to be placed somewhere this person knew was C.-controlled, but why did they have their sights on our setup in the first place?
I figure us continuing to ask probing questions would be seen not so friendly, so I end things with just a simple “Your boy’s very capable in this world. Christmas should be wonderful for him this year.”
I suppose we can have a calm Christmas Eve with these people, because I don’t know what we’ll discover tomorrow. I’d rather our people have one soothing day versus today and tomorrow filled with uncertainty and risk.
My group appears at a loss for what path we should take next. I take it upon myself to make that choice for them. “How about you all go and walk the streets? I’ll put our luggage in the truck and meet up after I’m done.”
Ashton fidgets with his shirt. “I’m up for not staying right where the sun is.”
It’s hot, but the sun keeps being bright. It doesn’t know what’s wrong with the earth.
They all decide to move down away from this parking lot. Will turns back and says, “Maybe I’ll get a chance to pretend I’m in charge, even for a minute.”
I chuckle. “Yeah.”
With them exploring the area, and me taking the bag from our truck’s bed into the interior, I let this moment be a rewarding kind.
We’ve done so much. I won’t go deep into what exactly we’ve done, but it’s all gotten us to where we are. We’re surviving, but we’re still ourselves while at it. These people around us also seem to know how to do that as well.
“You’ll never know who you’ll come across,” I say to myself, confident no one will overhear me over the furor surrounding this lot.
Just as I reach in to pick up my sword, I hear a voice come from behind my ear. It’s recognizable to me and I’ve wished I didn’t have to hear it ever again.
Chapter XXIII
It’s the man who can control the undead.
“What is it?” I ask sharply.
“I should talk to you about something.”
“Is it vital to me?”
He swipes his gaze to both sides, then elevates his hand to guide me away from the lot, closer to the fence’s entrance. He lowers himself under a big tree by the corner of the fence’s perimeter. More undead hug near it now that everyone is devoting time away.
I slip my sword to my back fluidly. “What do you want?”
He pulls out a knife, and gives a quick slice to his palm. I find myself cocking my head away. His hand trembles as he asks me, “You see this?”
I expect to see red soaking into the patterns of his hand’s wrinkles. When I fully look at it though, it takes me aback.
“Y-your blood’s…green?”
The same green I’ve seen dripped, smeared, and oozing out of every undead is running down his palm.
“Exactly!” he says, wiping it behind him on an undead’s insipid face. “It’s the same tainted blood that runs through them, and it must be running through all of me. It wasn’t about time. It was about self-awareness. My hands control them because it’s their blood. These hands they recognize. They trust them, because I know.”
It’s fascinating, but it’s not excusable at all when you mercilessly commanded undead to feast on those three at the mill.
“Why are you showing this to me?” My tone sounds defeated.
It’d be that way because I can’t do much about him. C. needed him back, and I can’t go against the reason why he still does.
“Because, if I can do it surely you could too.”
Wait.
“Me?”
“Well, when we come out of this mission, would you let me try some testing on you?”
My fury skyrockets to the surface and I point my finger at this chest. “I will not be a lab rat!” I realize I was really loud when a few heads turn towards us. I calm myself back down with several deep breaths. “Look, you’re special, without a doubt. Me? I’m like any survivor.”
I decide now would be a good time to reunite with my group, so I turn away from him. As I do so, he sucks my attention back in with more intrigue.
“You heard the voice in the building, didn’t you? The both of you did, right?”
How do I respond to that? He heard the supposed phantom voice as well?
I only turn half of my face to him. “If I did, then it wouldn’t change how I feel about it. I’m a survivor. I survive from them, and I don’t want to learn to control their minds.”
It’s a ludicrous thought…
Perhaps only the creative side of me could put together something like that…
But…
Could hearing a spirit have connection to someone’s power and immunity over the undead?
Chapter XXIV
It’s been two hours since our people arrived.
C. and the Chief have attained a great and friendly dynamic. It seems any anger the Chief had earlier today has evaporated, as though they never had conflict.
He did explain to me that his people don’t want to fight. When I think about it, that reason backs up why he’d be able to let that malevolent energy go.
The Chief has rounded every group leader, besides C., to let him give us further insight into how the fence was founded. He behaves well-natured by the front entrance, resting a forearm on it, even as an undead slobbers from the other side.
“We rotate in responsibility on who will clean up the border when these corrupted vessels begin piling up,” he explains.
In between his statements, the Chief takes his spiked rod and stabs at a few of the undead. After some time of doing this, the incessant noises from those mangled throats dies down. He insists one of us here gives him a challenging question.
Trey takes to this opportunity. “I’m sure you’re aware of the blackness that sometimes comes from these ‘corrupted vessels’. What do you do about them when they get by the fence?”
The Chief exhales. He stabs his rod into the ground by his side. “Before I answer you, what do you think you would do?”
Trey doesn’t deny the point it appears the Chief’s trying to make. So Trey, raising his fingers to stroke his chin, comes up with an honest response. “With what we have, I would nudge them away as far as possible, then make a break for back here.”
He and I seem to think alike. I’m glad it’s been the case since the beginning. A few times these last few weeks I’ve felt no relatability with anyone outside of my group. I’m sorry I’ve forgotten about you, Trey.
A little smirk comes to the Chief’s austere expression, but it’s immediately known he’s not doing it from negative judgment.
“We are a people that work together with our unique ideas. There’s no doubt when someone makes an individual plan regarding this, everyone here wants the same end goal.”
Trey and I fully comprehends what it means.
Then, we have our “Shades” man who inputs his own opinion. “Excuse my rudeness, but that makes no sense.”
C. visibly clenches his jaw, but the Chief notices, and defuses what may come. “No, please, expand why you think so.”
“I think’s it’s ridiculous! You need a chain of rules, because not everyone’s smart enough to know what’s good for all.”
I may sound vicious in my head, but I find it ironic that he’s saying it’s important to know what’s good for all. Considering the consequences he’s received today for his not-so-smart behavior.
One of our remaining group leaders, who’s leading a pack of three, adds to the argument. “I don’t know, man. This setup sounds like they know what they’re doing.”
“Shades” st
ubbornly replies, “Sure, if you’re with some people that don’t care for much concrete government. It’s sounds like everyone’s gotta be on the same class here. Personally, I don’t agree. That’s all I’m saying.”
I don’t worry that he’ll be a negative influence on the positive feelings everyone else here has, because I can tell his voice isn’t truly recognized by any of us.
The Chief only gives a “Hmm” as his response, then proposes we all prepare for an evening gathering.
No further conversation continues, so I take it as my sign to wander about in search of my group. The street is filled with several pairs of people, blended from ours and theirs. The shadowing along the pavement walkways is quite magnificent. Once upon a time, these things were simply ignored details.
Now I take immense satisfaction to seeing them. I witness the structure of the house’s roofs play fairly with their textures.
If I were a painter in this world, this area would now possibly be one of the richest in colors and complexities of perspective that isn’t tampered with by drama or tragedy.
“Hey! Rockstar!”
I hear this from the block I just turned off from. I’m not confused. I know it came from “Shades”. He jogs to catch up to my positon.
“Have you followed through on the deal?”
I continue to purposefully not let him affect my current status. So I respond with simple “No. There was no deal.”
He lets out a coughing laugh in response. “Now, what’s your deal, man?”
I have many reasons, none of which I’m sure you’ll feel guilty about.
“Where’s your people?” I ask instead.
“They’re fine. We’re all going to the same place. Since you and I are at this point free to chat, I’d like to know something.”
I remain undeterred in my goal to not let him impact me for the worst, so I go on and let him control the flow of the conversation. “What you would like to know?”
“You’ve screwed her before, haven’t you?”
Remain calm, Gary. He’s expecting a reaction out of you.
I look behind us for a brief instant. I don’t trust that he wouldn’t rally an attempt to have his people gang up on me—even with us not entirely alone on these streets.
It’s clear.
My stare speaks the biting vehemence I have for him, but my fabricated tone is without any emotion. “Focus on your people. Focus on the mission. Do it for your sake.”
He looks at me with a conceited expression. I realize I’ve just cornered myself with what he wanted to hear, or what he thinks he hears. This makes me decide to discontinue talking, or my care of his presence.
I simply turn forward and continue towards the crowd I see assembling by a large building further down this street.
“You could have anyone you wanted, Rockstar! Why hold onto just one?”
So that’s all Lissie is to him? I’m not too surprised. I was interested by her distinctive qualities as a survivor. Even when in the heat of my rockstar life, women were more to me than just looks along with imagining what wonders come because of their looks.
From the beginning, Lissie meant more to me than what he’s interested in her about today.
I hear him grow frustrated when more people bridge the growing gap between us. I’m certain it’s disconcerting to those walking right by his raggedy body. It sounds to me that he’s not afraid to resonate that frustration off to them.
If anything, I would only walk back to make sure his friction towards me doesn’t inadvertently harm a person clueless to it.
Fortunately, I don’t have to because now I’ve reached the point of no return when gravitating inside the building. Its glossy granite flooring hits a shine in my eye from the sun beaming through the unbroken windows. Long narrow tables are situated in rows across this wide space.
Many of the spots are already taken by the people familiar with this kind of gathering. I see paper plates raid the tables’ surface. A few already comfortably landed, some lifting off, and several settling down—like that of an airfield.
It appears this is the people’s feasting ceremony. I figure my group would already have been one of the first of finding this out, which is why I’m very happy to notice a hand stick out from the sea of people. I can see it’s Will.
“Did you miss me?”
This is delivered by the wall farther right of me. The cadence of her voice, the savoring sharp syllabus she has—it’s as familiar to me as my own.
I look to see Lissie and I are but several feet away from one another. Both of us have the same idea of hanging out by a wall.
My voice inconveniently becomes raspy, so she can only see my mouth open. She gestures for me to come closer. I obey, letting her soft hand put me under her subtle spell.
I move my mouth right to her ear and whisper, “When I’m gone, I miss everything about you.”
Chapter XXV
She and I wait in the line this gathering unanimously put together.
I look over the tall storage shelf that divides the people from the food. The “lunchroom” is nothing fancy. It looks like they only have five gallon barrels filled with random assortments of finger food snacks to offer. I watch the ones by the food exchange area on how it’s done.
The people in line simply place their plate on the second see-through shelf closest to the top, where it’s then grabbed by the “chefs” who pick out handfuls of snacks. Water is available as well after the food exchange, but the paper instructions I observed on the walls say only eight oz. cups are offered, and only once per person during meals.
Considering this community seems fairly high in numbers, they’re really providing an impressive quality of food.
Behind me, Lissie exhales. It’s warm and delighted. “You know, Gary, this could be a date for us.”
My eyes lock onto hers. Happiness radiates off of them. She chuckles, “Your eyes are like dogs. They sparkle when they’re joyful.”
I playfully tap Lissie on the tip of her nose. She’s indicated to me before that it’s my special way of practically saying I’m happy to oblige her.
I realize then we’re holding up the line for a moment when the grouchy voice of a chef catches my attention.
“Give me your plate, hon,” she says, becoming lighthearted afterward.
Our transaction is brisk, and I thank her graciously for it.
“No problem. You’re one of us, hon.”
They’ve already done so much to make me feel like we’ve belonged here. Maybe not C. or the others, but for me and my group it feels that way. Part of me is melancholy that this peaceful environment is only a visit for us. I can’t forget about those back at our area though.
Remember, Gary, not everyone with us was or is like the “Shades” man.
Or the others.
My mind jumps away from my troubled memories. I focus on the now.
I wait until Lissie gets her plate loaded with food, then I practice what I would do on a “date”. With the hand that’s carrying my cup, I hold out my arm.
At first, she looks confused with what I’m doing, but quickly catches on. “What a gentleman you are!” she flirtatiously coos, then interlocks her arm with my bent elbow.
I take a quick glimpse over at the rest of the group. They’ve sat down at a section already filled up by others. Lissie and I choose to go sit someplace else for more privacy.
Of course we’re taking a risk exposing our relationship status to any of our people, but it should be fair to say we aren’t the spectacle everyone will want to fixate on. I only worry about it because of our enemies. Besides the one group of people I’ve had my fill of trouble today, no one else around strikes that concern in me.
We go ahead and sit by an end section of the third table because it has the fewest people. We sit on the same side, and have our first formal meal together—disregarding the food being snack bags of various chips and crackers. I keep mindful table etiquette—again acting as if we were
at a formal restaurant for the first time.
“How’s your Cheetos, dear?” Lissie asks me, poking fun at our meal.
“It’s up there in flavor. I’d recommend this kitchen for any newcomers who want to move here.” I comment, overly-thinking the humor.
She gives a non-humored look, but smirks anyways. “I love that about you.”
I nod and turn to my plate again. My food’s still halfway chewed in my mouth when I then feel her grab my jaw with both her hands. Lissie then glues her lips to mine without concern.
At this point, our etiquette would be disappointing, but this moment is appealing to me regardless of how it looks.
In-between gasps, she tells me, “I don’t care anymore about hiding this.”
Her seductive taste and bewitching voice are both far more fulfilling than the food on my plate. I finish off our moment by stating, “Anyone that would try and ruin it would be foolish.”
I could imagine, to the gazes currently drawn to us, our relationship would be seen immature and inconsiderate of them. Every other time of the day we are the opposites of now. I think, in this regards, we allow our combination to get that energy out.
One last kiss occurs before a new person walks up to us, but mostly to me.
“Gary? Gary Nillon?”
Chapter XXVI
I pull away from Lissie. “That’s me.”
“Whoa! I get to meet Gary Nillon!”
I take it that he’s enthralled to meet me as the musician—not a survivor like him. His enthusiastic voice makes me smile. “How are you doing this evening?”
He appears star-struck as he stutters to answer me.
I believe it wasn’t shown enough to the public that celebrities, and media people overall, are just like anyone else. The industries couldn’t let that be shared though, because then they wouldn’t be able to convince people to pay extra, and do extra, to see their favorites.
