The Last Days p-2

by Scott Westerfeld

  “Not so fast, Moz!” Lace grabbed my arm, thrusting the needle closer.

  As I pulled free from her grip, the ground broke open beneath us…

  Columns of flesh tore themselves up from the concrete of the platform, rings of teeth flashing in the darkness. One whipped past me, leaving my jacket sleeve in ribbons. I was already running, dodging through the flailing tendrils, stumbling over broken concrete.

  The angels fought back, swords whistling through the air around me, as deadly as the gnashing teeth.

  I jumped from the platform, then glanced back. Lace was spinning in place, her long sword slicing low through the air, cutting through columns of flesh as they thrust up from the ground. Black water spewed from the ragged stumps.

  My hands reached for the neck of my Strat again, itching to pull it off my back. I was dying to run back and rejoin the fight, but I shut my eyes, yanked out the garlic, and bit straight into an unpeeled clove.

  The burning sharpness cleared my head: I didn’t want to be part of any struggle. I didn’t want to go to some camp in New Jersey. All I wanted was to stay here, be in my band, play gigs, and get famous!

  I turned away from the battle and dashed down the tracks, running back toward Union Square Station. As I passed the gash in the tunnel, a storm of rats spilled out, headed back toward the fight. I danced like a barefoot kid on hot asphalt as they swept past.

  Finally the lights of the station glimmered in front of me. I leaped up onto the platform and kept running, climbing stairs and slanting tunnels until I’d dashed into the open air.

  My pockets were heavy, jingling with enough change to catch a taxi out to Brooklyn. I had to tell Min what I’d seen. The enemy was just like she’d said: something monstrous. There really were angels, and they were recruiting, taking infected people away to… New Jersey?

  Whatever. The struggle was real.

  I hailed a cab and gave the driver Minerva’s street name. When he said he didn’t go to that part of Brooklyn anymore, I leaned forward and bared my teeth, asking him to reconsider. He turned, met my demented rock-star gaze, and changed his mind.

  Once the cab was speeding up the Williamsburg Bridge, climbing away from the earth, my nerves began to calm. I was headed toward Minerva, to safety. I’d escaped the angels, and as long as I stayed out of the subways, they’d never find me again…

  Then I remembered that my guitar case and amp were back there, underground. I sank down into the vinyl seat, eyes squeezing shut.

  The amp didn’t matter—I didn’t need it anymore—but the case. If the angels came looking for me, they’d find it on the tracks. Inside was a polite note, asking anyone who found this guitar to please call Moz at this number. Big Reward!

  And, of course, the note gave my address as well.

  21. THE RUNAWAYS

  — MINERVA-

  I pulled out Astor Michaels’s birthday present right before midnight, just like he’d told me to.

  It was wrapped in silver foil, my own face gazing back at me in the candlelight, blurry and twisted. Zombie jumped up onto the bed and sniffed the package, then looked up at me, his little face worried.

  Astor Michaels wasn’t family to me and Zombie—and now Moz. He was more like a distant relative, part of the clan who spelled their last names differently. It made him smell funny.

  “It’s okay, Zombie. Astor’s going to make Mommy a rock star.”

  When I pulled on the red ribbon, its knot only tightened, so I lifted the box to my mouth. The ribbon tensed for a moment as my teeth closed, then relaxed, like a chicken when Luz broke its neck.

  Teeth were useful for all sorts of things these days. Mozzy could open beer bottles with his.

  I slid the box out from its wrapping, checking the clock. Ten seconds.

  I counted down, hoping the present wasn’t something heart-shaped. Eww. Astor Michaels knew I was with Mozzy. He’d spotted it faster than anyone else, except maybe smelly Alana Ray—and Zahler, of course, who Moz had told before he’d even called me. (Okay, really it was only Pearl who didn’t know. Poor little Pearl.)

  My fingernails slit the box open, and I smiled.

  It was a cell phone, shiny and microscopic. Lifting it up, hefting the insubstantial weight, I felt its shape fitting into my palm. What a very excellent idea…

  Zombie, who’d been batting at the red ribbon, came over for another sniff, and at that moment the phone buzzed silently against my palm, like a housefly trapped in my fist. Zombie looked up at me and meowed.

  “Must be for me,” I said.

  I kept Astor Michaels waiting for three vibrations before I pushed the big green button.

  “Aren’t you clever?”

  “It’s my job to keep the talent happy.”

  “Mmm.” I was already wondering when Mozzy would be home from playing down in the subway. He was supposed to call me exactly at one; I could phone him right before and give him a little surprise… I giggled.

  “Sounds like I’ve succeeded,” Astor Michaels said.

  “Very much so.” Then I frowned. “Why didn’t Pearl ever give me one of these?”

  “Maybe she thought you’d get yourself into trouble.”

  “Hmph.” Pearl probably liked being the only one with my number. Showed what she knew. “It’s about time. Luz stole my buttons, you know.”

  “So you said. You needed a real phone, Min. In fact, it’s about time you had a real life.”

  Zombie stared up at me, as if listening.

  “What do you mean by that, Astor Michaels?”

  “Why don’t you move out, Min?”

  “Move… out?” My eyes swept the candlelit darkness around me.

  “Red Rat has a few apartments set aside for our special artists, for when they come to town to record. Nicely furnished and in Manhattan. You could move in anytime.”

  I swallowed, reaching out to stroke Zombie. His fur had the shivers. “But what about—”

  “Your parents?” He made a disappointed noise. “You’re eighteen in two weeks, Min. You can disappear for that long, can’t you? Do you think the police will spend much time looking for a runaway who’s about to turn legal?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t care about the police, or my parents much either. But I wasn’t sure how long I could go without Luz. She could be a total pain, but she’d cured me, more or less.

  And Mozzy needed her even more than I did. I was splitting Luz’s medicines with him, making sure he got through the first stages of the illness. So far, he was keeping it together just fine, but I didn’t want him to turn all bitey.

  “Min?”

  I covered up the microphone. “What do you think, Zombie?”

  His eyes opened wide, glistening, nervous but… excited.

  Mozzy needed to get well, but we needed things too—to breathe the air outside at night, sucking in the smells and the moonlight. To go down in the subway, like Mozzy got to every night.

  I wanted to learn more… to make my songs stronger.

  In a couple of weeks I could call up Luz and have her come to my new place. She could make birthday mandrake tea for both of us. Once I was eighteen, it wouldn’t matter if she told my parents where I was.

  Me and Moz could make it for that long, couldn’t we? We knew to eat lots of garlic. Probably all those other smelly herbs were just for show.

  Zombie meowed, still staring at me with gleaming eyes. In our own place, he could go play with his little friends whenever he wanted.

  Astor Michaels was talking again. “Once you’re out of that room, the band can rehearse every day. Think what that would do for you, especially with your first gig coming up.”

  I bit my lip. Pearl had been complaining about having only one more Sunday to rehearse. Zombie stared at me, tail twitching, anxious.

  “Okay. I’ll move.”

  “I thought you might say that,” Astor Michaels said, and I could hear his smile. It slid through the airwaves like a needle. “Go pack.”

&nbs
p; “What, right now? But it’s midnight.”

  “Best time to run away, don’t you think? I’m on the road as we speak, coming over to collect you.”

  “Um, but Moz said he was going to call later.”

  He filled my ear with a little sigh. “You can call him instead, Min. Remember my little present? The one we’re talking on?”

  “Oh, right.” I giggled. “Clever Astor Michaels.”

  “I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Pack light.”

  Pack light? Puh.

  I needed lots of dresses—all my black ones, for wearing onstage. All my necklaces and rings too, even though my old jewelry box was pink and tattered. Only a few pairs of shoes, because I really had to buy all new ones; none of mine were very rock star. I packed every bit of the underwear me and Pearl had bought the day we’d gone to Red Rat Records, but no pajamas, because I was so bored of lying around all day. Bored of sleeping.

  Never again, I thought as I stuffed my two suitcases full. I could save up all my sleeping for the grave.

  I packed my notebooks, of course. I’d memorized most of the songs in them, but they smelled good, and I liked to stare at my old handwriting. It was sweet how only I could read the songs, all of them in my own special language.

  Zombie trilled from the top of the dresser, reminding me to bring cat food and a place for him to pee. I grabbed his bag of dry food and promised to get him a litter box. And big piles of bones—Moz and I were going to need lots of meat, especially without Luz’s tinctures and teas to help us.

  I wondered if he would come and stay with me…

  The thought made me shiver a little, and I looked around my room again, the place I’d lived for almost eighteen years. It was time to grow up, after all.

  The illness had emptied this room of meaning. Luz had cleared all my old possessions out, back when they’d made me scream. She was reintroducing familiar things one by one, but none of them held any significance now. Everything from before the disease smelled like old toys from childhood, sugary with memories, a little embarrassing.

  Better to let my parents keep it all.

  Mommy and Daddy would be upset, but I could call them from my new phone and tell them how happy I was.

  I snapped the suitcases shut, then crossed to the door, closing my eyes to listen. Maxwell was sleeping loudly down the hall. He’d started snoring lately, puberty making him prickly and restless. He’d be much happier without a crazy big sister sucking up everyone’s attention.

  I listened harder, trying to hear through Max’s snuffling. The slightest creak of settling sounded below… was it Astor Michaels on the stairs? But he didn’t know about the secret key.

  The phone vibrated again, like a tiny, nervous animal in my hand.

  “I’m ready,” I whispered.

  “Excellent. We’re just pulling up now. Heavens, this neighborhood’s seen better days.”

  “It’s not our fault. The mean garbagemen won’t come here anymore.”

  “Well, I’m glad I’m taking you away.”

  I frowned. Suddenly I wished it wasn’t Astor Michaels helping me escape. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, rushing off with him. Mozzy could help me instead…

  But I couldn’t imagine unpacking my bags, putting everything back into closets and drawers and under the bed, defeated.

  One more day, even one more hour, was too long to stay here.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “First you have to get the key. Then you sneak to the top of the stairs without making any noise—”

  He laughed. “Just a moment, darling Min. I don’t do sneaking.”

  “But… there’s a lock on my door.”

  “Yes. And you can break it.”

  “The lock?”

  “The door. You’ve had the condition for five months, Minerva. You can feel your strength, right? I’ve broken doors down by accident. Just hit it with the palm of your hand. Hard.”

  I touched the door softly, thinking of all the nights I’d tried to stare holes in it. But knock it down?

  “It’ll make noise,” I whispered. “Wake them all up.”

  “You’ll be down and out the front door while they’re still wondering what’s going on. Don’t be shy. Just hit it, Min.”

  I remembered how I’d lifted Pearl’s mixing board with one hand last Sunday, making her eyes as round as buttons.

  But bash down my own door?

  “Do you want to stay in your room forever?” he said.

  I hissed at the phone. Astor Michaels and his little tests. Were we mature enough to stay together? Tough enough to face a nasty audience? Strong enough to… bash things down?

  Fine.

  I hung up, scooped Zombie from the floor, and placed one palm against the wood. Drew my arm back…

  And smashed it into smithereens.

  Moz stood just outside, his jaw open.

  “Mozzy!” I cried.

  His smell rushed into the room, and Zombie struggled to jump down and say hi.

  I stared at my stinging palm. “I’d have heard you coming up except for smelly Astor Michaels distracting me.”

  “Um, I…”

  “Poor Mozzy. You look frazzled.”

  “Something happened to me. Something weird.” He looked down at the bits of wood around him. “Why did you do that?”

  I bent to pick up a suitcase. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “What way? The way where?”

  “My new place,” I said. “Quit squirming! Not you, Mozzy. Grab that, would you?”

  He blinked a few times, then saw my other suitcase and gripped its handle.

  I paused for a moment, listening. Maxwell was definitely awake, his snores shattered into little pieces, just like my door. I could hear him twisting on his bed, snuffling with confusion.

  Downstairs in my parents’ room, the floor was creaking with footsteps.

  “Come on,” I hissed.

  We didn’t bother sneaking. The stairs complained, but it felt so good not to be worrying over every squeak of the cranky old steps. We were past my parents’ room, almost at the front door, when Daddy flicked on the lights above us.

  “Minerva?” he called softly. “Max?”

  I pulled open the front door. The outside smells rushed in: the garbage mountains, the rotting leaves of fall, Zombie’s little friends skittering in the dark.

  “Bye, Daddy,” I called up, trying to sound a little sad at leaving. “Don’t worry, please. I’ll call you soon.”

  “What are you doing? Who is that?”

  Moz looked very embarrassed to be stared at. But it was Daddy in his pajamas who looked silly.

  “Tell Max and Mommy goodbye and that I’ll see you all on my birthday, okay?”

  “Minerva! You can’t just leave… You’re not well! Where are you—?”

  “I said I’d call you!” Daddy never listens. I stomped out the door.

  “How are we going to get anywhere?” Moz sputtered, running after me. “Won’t they call the cops? I sent my cab away, and we can’t take the subway! There’s this thing down—”

  “It’s okay, Moz. Look, there he is!”

  Astor Michaels was half a block away, standing next to his limo, looking surprised to see Mozzy. His driver hovered close to him, scanning the piles of garbage nervously, one hand in his pocket like he was getting ready to shoot some of Zombie’s little friends.

  We ran up, and I handed Astor Michaels my suitcase. “Take this; Zombie has his claws in my dress.”

  “You’re bringing your cat,” he said flatly, staring at Moz.

  “And Mozzy too!” I said.

  “Yes, I see that.” Astor Michaels sighed tiredly. “Hello, Moz.”

  “What’s going on here?” Moz said, sounding all manly and jealous, which made me giggle.

  But then Daddy yelled something, and we all got in the limo, dragging the suitcases in behind us instead of opening the trunk. The driver put the car into gear and whisked us away.

 
I waved to Daddy out the back window.

  “We’re going to our new place, Moz,” I explained. “You should come stay there with me.”

  “Um…” Astor Michaels said.

  “I can’t go home,” Mozzy said, staring out at midnight Brooklyn rushing past. “I saw this thing down in the subway, and the angels caught me. They almost took me away, like Luz always says.”

  “Angels?” I asked. For the first time, I noticed how shaky Moz was. He was pale with shock, twitching and sweating like he’d seen something much worse than my door exploding.

  “It’s real, Min,” he said softly. “The struggle’s real.”

  I wrapped my arms around him. “Don’t worry, Mozzy. We’ll take you someplace safe.”

  “By all means,” Astor Michaels said. “Must keep the talent happy.”

  22. CROWDED HOUSE

  — PEARL-

  The morning after the Morgan’s Army gig, my phone rang—Astor Michaels calling.

  “You gave me a hangover,” I answered, still feeling all the glasses of champagne he’d brought me. Mom gave me a stern look across the breakfast table, but I ignored her. Stupid champagne genes.

  Astor Michaels laughed at me from the other end. “Well, at least we have something to celebrate. They’re finally ready.”

  I squinted in the sunlight streaming into the dining room. “The contracts?”

  “In my hand.”

  “Your lawyer works on Saturday morning?”

  “They were ready yesterday.”

  Mom was pretending not to listen, but I tried not to swear too loud. Everyone had been nine kinds of bugging me to get the negotiations over with, like the delay was all my fault. “And you didn’t mention this last night why?”

  “I had a very busy evening in front of me.”

  “Oh. Your mysterious errand.” He’d left me and Alana Ray at the club before the gig had ended, smiling like he had a dirty secret.

  “And after that, things got even busier.” Astor Michaels sighed tiredly. “If you meet me downtown in two hours, I’ll explain everything.”

  “Explain whatever you want,” I said. “Just bring the contracts.”