Meilin and the Challenger

by Masters, Cate

  Lakshme tilted her head. “Let’s catch up to the others.”

  “And not piss Zoe off anymore than she already is.” Meilin returned the broom to the closet. “I’m with you.” In truth, she’d rather be with him. After she’d climbed on her motorcycle, it took great control not to veer away from the others to return to the forest. What if more zombies had stumbled across him while he was unconscious? What if too many surrounded him, and he couldn’t escape?

  Then he wasn’t the man for you. A hard fact, but that’s what life had become like these days.

  That didn’t make the situation suck any less.

  ***

  Stars filled the sky in constellations Will memorized during childhood, brilliant enough to make him want to reach out and grab them. The wind rustled through the trees, a soothing sound. How long had he lain there? A dull ache thudded through his head, a reminder of Zoe’s powerful right hook.

  The girl had issues, whether merely him, or all men, he didn’t know. But if she thought she’d scare him away, he would prove her wrong. Meilin’s last words about maybe having something gave him something to look forward to, and made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Meilin could make her own decision about whether or not she wanted him to stay.

  The rustling grew louder. Wind, my ass. Ever so slowly, he craned to see beyond the outdoor dance floor – why the hell had they set it up out here? A figure moved. The smell gave it away. Zombie.

  Heart pounding, his hand immediately went to his gun. Whew. Still there. Maybe Zoe hadn’t wanted him dead. Not outright.

  The memory of Meilin’s kiss rippled warmth through him, erasing fear. Until heavy footsteps clomped toward him.

  Ah shit. He’d kill this one, no problem. But how many more followed? He might not have enough ammo.

  Feigning unconsciousness, he kept his grip tight around the gun. It tightened when the zombie bent over him. He suppressed a wince at its disgusting snuffling, and forced himself to stay calm when its boot nudged him.

  What was wrong with it? Had it lost its ability to scent humans? Or just testing to see if I’m alive? If his research proved correct, it wouldn’t discriminate against him for being dead, and would eat his brains all the same. Human roadkill made for tasty eating, he’d read, if not especially fresh meat.

  Something weird was going on, though. This one apparently couldn’t determine he was a human body, live or dead. He fought the urge to blow off its head, and instead waited it out.

  Then the strangest thing happened. It grunted like it had reached some conclusion, and shuffled away.

  Through slitted eyes, Will peered around, and froze. The entire freaking dance floor was surrounded by them. Maybe the one who’d found Will signaled the others he presented no threat, but why?

  It halted with a grunt of alarm, tore open a plastic bag and shoved some of the contents into its mouth.

  These zombies eat trash? Too weird.

  It spat, emitted a questioning moan, and ripped the bag to shreds. With a growl, it stepped off the dance floor and fell in line behind the others, trudging into the trees.

  Will waited until they’d put a safe distance between him and them before rising. He strode to the shredded bag, and the musky scent of sweat filled his nostrils. Zombies didn’t sweat, and not even the soldiers he’d served in combat with in the desert smelled this bad. The sisters must have doused the bag with it, but why?

  Hell. The only possible reason was they wanted to lure the zombies here. That would explain the illogically located dance floor – the flashing lights to catch their attention, the strong human scent to reel them in. King’s daughters were zombie hunters.

  A good explanation for their deadly accuracy with guns, too.

  Dammit. That meant they posed competition to him, unless King had no clue. But wait, of course he didn’t; he’d never place his daughters in such danger. Their setup must operate beneath Daddy’s radar. It would complicate his effort to land the zombie hunter job, but he never let a challenge stand in his way.

  Clomping steps, and a groan, grew louder.

  Will whirled in time to dodge as a zombie swiped its arms in a clumsy attempt to lock him in its embrace. In one fluid motion, he lifted his gun and blew away half its head.

  What the hell? A straggler? Experience told him no, this one stayed behind purposely, to act as a scout. More advanced than the zombies he’d read about. This confirmed his conclusions.

  First, that it had managed to alert the other zombies, now charging back through the trees.

  Second, that these weren’t the zombies his parents had warned him about. No, these were a new breed, more sentient. More deliberate.

  More dangerous.

  Which meant one thing: the freaking zombies had evolved.

  Time to think about all that later. Right now, he had to get the hell out of here. Using a trick he’d learned in the service, he mentally shrugged off his weariness, his aches and pains, and turned all his focus to City. As unfeeling as the zombies, he became a machine with one goal: get home.

  He jogged in the direction Meilin and her sisters had departed, and followed their tire tracks across the cracked, parched land of the Grey Zone. Light edged the sky before he slowed to a walk near City’s border, the electric fence buzzing as he cleared the gate.

  After a few blocks, his breathing evened out, and weariness set in. A stand of trees lined the large park where he used to play as a kid. Not a park any longer, but crammed with tents, cardboard boxes, or worse, residents huddled together on the grass.

  Great. So if zombies managed to get past the boundary, the poor people had to act as the first line of defense. Or their screams would alert the more prominent others? Man, had City fallen to such desperate times?

  He trudged on, thankful for the dozen blocks that spanned the distance to his mother’s small home. Not the most secure area, but plenty of neighbors, and they’d always looked out for one another.

  Used to, anyway. In passing, he studied the once-modest homes, now sporting iron bars across doors and first-floor windows. In the half-light of dawn, the gleam of metal beneath scattered leaves warned of traps beneath. Hell, what about innocent people who accidentally tread into the yard? A kid could lose a leg to those steel jaws, and pity any poor pup who wandered into it.

  Thirteenth Street. Growing up, he used to think it a lucky number, but standing at the intersection, it no longer seemed that way. Desolation had crept onto his old street, too. Four years, and City had changed beyond recognition.

  Wedged between two similar brick homes, his mother’s house had none of the warmth he remembered. Bars crossed its door and shuttered windows, but too thin to provide any real protection. He’d have to buy her new ones. Just in case.

  Much as he hated to knock at this early hour, he had no other way in. He rapped gently, so as not to alarm his mother.

  Instead, fear silenced him when the door opened. A young woman, not much older than him, stood on the other side of the bars. Robe open, her skimpy panties and tank top revealed her bony frame.

  She skimmed her gaze across him. “Who sent you?”

  What the hell kind of question was that? “Where’s Mrs. McGregor?” He peered past her.

  Recognition lit her face. “Will?”

  Did he know her? “Yes?”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” She twisted open the locks and the metal gate swung open. “Come in.”

  “Is my mother here?” Her last letter bore this address; she couldn’t have moved.

  “Sleepin’, most likely.”

  An inner door creaked. “Molly, I’ve asked you many times to keep it down…” His mother shuffled down the hall, long grey hair pulled into a loose pony tail. More than wrinkled, deep lines in her face made her appear to have aged twenty years since he’d last seen her.

  He waited for her to look up, smile and hug him, but her deadened gaze focused on the girl.

  Molly pulled the gate shut with a clang. “Gu
ess I shouldn’t have bothered getting up, then. Next time, you can answer the door.”

  Desperation edged his mother’s voice. “No guests at this hour. I’ve told you.”

  Molly crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s not my guest.”

  “What?” She finally looked at him. “Oh my God.”

  Will let his backpack drop. “Hi, Mom.”

  Sobs burbled up, and she rushed into his embrace. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “I wasn’t sure when I’d get here. Sorry to arrive so late.”

  She led him to the kitchen. “Come sit down. You must be hungry. I’ll get you something to eat.” She rummaged in the refrigerator.

  “I’m mostly tired. It’ll be great to sleep in my own bed.”

  Hunched over, she went still. When she straightened, her wide eyes went to the girl.

  Behind him, Molly crept down the hall. To his room.

  Oh. Shit. “Or the sofa.” That didn’t seem to be spoken for, yet.

  His mother set a plastic container on the table. “If I’d known you were coming…” She knit her brows.

  “You don’t owe me any explanation, Mom. But are you having money troubles?” The only thing he could think of.

  “I didn’t want to worry you.” She eased onto a chair, and a faint smile flashed across her face. “Everyone’s having money troubles these days.”

  “So you took in a boarder.”

  “Not by choice, believe me. She needed a place to stay, but she doesn’t use the best sense.”

  Not if she had late-night visitors. It put his mother at risk.

  “Do you want me to heat this up for you? It’s just leftovers, and there’s not much.”

  “Think I’ll just hit the rack, if you don’t mind. I’m beat.” He rose. “Go back to bed, get some sleep, okay?”

  “I’ll sleep better now that you’re home.”

  He kissed her cheek. Home? If he’d harbored any hope of living here, he didn’t now.

  He plopped onto the sofa and stretched out to rest. It triggered another memory: before Meilin had left him – right after kissing him – she’d sprayed something on him. To mask his human scent? If so, she’d held the door open for him to escape.

  So she did care about him. A little, anyway.

  Another complication, but it might have sweeter rewards.

  Tomorrow… no, make that today… he’d find Mr. King and offer his services. Maybe he could even convince Meilin to work with him. Together, they might stand a chance.

  Chapter Two

  The intercom in the sisters’ chambers buzzed, and a familiar female voice said, “Sorry to wake you, girls, but your father requests your presence downstairs in his office. A new Challenger has arrived.”

  Bleary-eyed from their night excursion, Meilin squinted at the speaker. Normally, she’d engage Dory in a friendly argument, but not today. A new Challenger? Her breath caught. Could it be him?

  She scrambled from bed and pressed the intercom button. “We’ll be down soon.”

  “Hurry,” Dory said in a hushed tone. “He’s in a bad mood today.”

  “Thanks.” For the warning. Since Dory came to live with them as lab assistant to their father, she’d also fallen into the unofficial role of caretaker. At the time, Meilin and her sisters were only six years old, and had lost their mother two years earlier. Seventeen years their senior, Dory had mothered them even after assuming Father’s work in the lab.

  Meilin and her sisters gossiped about Dory falling in love with him. Only natural, really – newly widowed, he’d paid for her reconstructive surgery after a zombie attack. With bionic prosthetics replacing both legs beneath her knees, and one arm, Dory liked to joke there wasn’t much left of her that was human except her heart. This past year, when they’d teased her, Dory blushed; at least, the human half of her face, the part that wasn’t vinyl covering a complicated circuitry.

  On her way to the immense clothes closet, Meilin called, “Downstairs now, everyone, to meet the new Challenger.”

  Zoe rubbed her forehead. “No, I need sleep.”

  Dharma sat up and stretched. “Don’t we all.”

  Already straightening her bed, Lakshme asked, “Did Dory say who the Challenger is?”

  Meilin struggled into the uniform, unused since the last Challenger had arrived three months ago. He’d disappeared on his second trip beyond the city boundaries. “Maybe it’s someone we know.”

  Zoe rose and strode to the closet. “Don’t get your hopes up.” Reaching for her uniform, she leveled her gaze at Meilin. “Even if he survived last night, his odds of surviving long term are almost zilch.”

  Meilin steeled herself against the waves of emotion washing over her – first sadness, then anger. “You’re a real bitch, Zoe.”

  Her sister zipped the front of the uniform. “If being a realist also makes me a bitch, then yes.”

  Enough of realism. Meilin wanted a little adventure. Enough of sisterhood, too. First chance she got, Meilin planned to approach Father about separate bedrooms. Despite its spaciousness and the airy atmosphere the tall windows provided, the single room had begun to feel too crowded. She understood his reasoning for the arrangement: as adopted children, he loved them all and wanted them to bond.

  Sometimes bonds had to break.

  His ‘princesses,’ he’d dubbed them, and City residents treated them like royalty after Father assumed the role as mayor, a heavy burden that robbed them of his time. Meilin hoped their work would free her father, too, so he could return to doing what he loved best: lab research.

  “I’m ready.” The first of the twelve, for once, and in more ways than one. She couldn’t wait till this city was in the rear view mirror of her motorcycle.

  According to tradition, they lined up at the arched door and when the last zipper was zipped, the last heeled boot slipped on, the sisters filed down the grand staircase, across the lobby and into the office. More like a presidential suite of offices, with the large receiving area intentionally sparse to accommodate large groups. Like today.

  The electronic billboard outside City Hall must have announced the new Challenger immediately, because the attending crowd spilled into the lobby. As she entered, Meilin’s gaze skimmed through but none of the faces matched the one she sought. Oh God, hadn’t the spray disguised his scent enough? Had the zombies discovered him? If so, it would mean an epic fail for the field test of the spray, an unofficial, unannounced test, yes, but still definitive proof. And it would mean she might never see him again, unless he showed up among their ranks. If that happened, she’d have no choice but to destroy him.

  Nerves coiled, she stood in front of her chair and waited for the last sister to take her place, six on either side of their father’s central seat. All nodded in salute to their father. They sat in unison, the single red stripe across their silver uniforms forming a continuous line.

  Their father nodded to the grand marshal, the signal to begin.

  A hush fell over the room as the grand marshal stepped forward. “We convene on this day, the twenty-second of June in the year two thousand eighty-nine, to welcome a new Challenger. Enter, Will McGregor, to make your request.”

  Fingers whitening from gripping the chair, Meilin stared at the entrance. Will McGregor – was that his name? She should have asked last night.

  Heads swiveled on both sides of the aisle as he strode in, disheveled but very much alive. Her breath left her in a surprised huff. Zoe muttered, “Shit.” Meilin couldn’t help her smug smile, until she saw her father’s look of disdain. He met her gaze, and recognition narrowed his eyes; damn, she must have given herself away, and it apparently displeased Father that she had any investment in the outcome of this man’s quest.

  Will halted at the space beyond the audience, in front of them, focused on her father. “Thank you for receiving me, Mr. King.”

  Father’s brow remained furrowed. “Why have you come?” The standard spiel, but different today becau
se Father didn’t hide his skepticism.

  Will exuded calm confidence. “I request you name me as Challenger, Mr. King.”

  His bearing regal, her father sat statue-like. “What qualifications do you have to make such a request, Mr. McGregor?”

  Will straightened, a rigid and imposing figure despite his torn clothes. “Four years of military service, sir.”

  Her father tapped an index finger against the arm of his chair. “I’m sure you endured harsh conditions, but none are relevant to the task at hand.”

  Other than a slight wince, Will maintained his stance. “I respectfully disagree, sir. I gained weapons training and battle strategy. I know what it takes to meet an enemy head on.”

  Father studied him. “And you understand the consequences of failure?”

  After the slightest ripple of fear, Will’s forehead smoothed. “Death, or zombification.”

  “Which ultimately leads to destruction.” Father leaned forward. “Are you willing to accept these terms?”

  A nerve pulsed in Will’s jaw. “I am.”

  First test passed. Now for the big reveal, whether Will acted as a ruthless mercenary, or a more honorable reason. Meilin allowed herself to blink, nothing more. He hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction, but it seemed deliberate.

  Likewise, Father kept his intense focus trained on Will. “What would you ask in payment for your services?”

  “That my mother’s debt be excused, and you give her a job with good wages.”

  Father cocked his head. “Nothing else? No reward for yourself?”

  Steady as ever, Will stared ahead. “No, sir. I make my own way. Always have.”

  Silly for Meilin to feel pride, but she did. Another thought crushed it: would he leave City once he finished? She realized, then, her confidence in him. He’d succeed.