by Schow, Ryan
“She broke it in half,” he sobbed.
“How are you even walking around right now?” Indigo asked, putting a hand on him to steady the trembling.
He looked up, his face strained with grief, with pain, and for a second nothing came out. Then: “Speed, Indigo. I’m on speed right now.”
There was a restlessness in the group at the admission.
“Let’s get you in to see the nurse,” Margot said. Gregor came up beside him and said, “I’m so sorry, man. I didn’t know.”
Carver shoved him aside with his good arm, but there wasn’t much to it.
“Is she dead, though? Maria?” Gregor asked. “Did I get her?”
“No,” he replied. “She’s injured, but not for long.”
In the infirmary, the nurse looked him over and said, “All these wounds on your face, half of them are infected.” She looked at the side of his ear where he’d taken a round and said, “This, too.”
“I know,” he said. He’d felt the hot stinging start right after Ruby took her things and left. “What does it matter anyway?”
“Infections are nothing to be trifled with,” she said.
He looked up at her, and he started to laugh. She did not join him. In fact, she couldn’t have been more somber.
“You could die.”
“Good,” he spat. “Don’t waste your medication on me.”
“We have enough,” she said softly.
She started to wipe his face, but he shied away from her, awkwardly slid off the table and said, “I told you it would be a waste. That I would be a waste.”
“You’re not a waste,” she said, her pleading eyes tugging at him.
“Others need you more.”
He walked past everyone, but it was Draven who got to him first. “Don’t go, man. Let us fix this. We can end her and then you can come live here. The group, they see what you’ve gone through—”
“Still going through it,” he hissed.
“You can have a family here, Carver. You and me,” he said, grabbing Carver’s good arm. He shrugged Draven off, but that didn’t stop his friend from persisting. “These people know how to survive!”
“My guys at work, they were my friends,” he said, walking to the truck. “They had families, kids, mothers who needed them and she killed them, Draven. But at least I had Ruby and Sally. Then Ruby left. But at least I had Sally, right? And then that redheaded infection, Greg or Gregor, goes and blows up Sally and that leaves me with no one, Draven.”
“You have me,” he pleaded.
Carver shook his hand off him again, his mouth incredibly dry, his face stinging, his emotions spiraling out of control again.
“I’m sorry, Draven,” he said. He got in the truck, started it up and said, “I’m sorry.”
“Just let us try!” he said.
Others were watching now, wondering what the loose cannon was going to do. He didn’t do anything. He just backed out and left.
With the speed starting to wear off, the pain returned in waves, as did an unrelenting exhaustion. If he could just get a little sleep, if he could get somewhere quiet, he just knew he could close his eyes and die.
When he got back to the apartment towers, however, he headed inside past the guys. They were trying to talk to him, but he ignored them as he trudged upstairs, one miserable flight after another.
He opened the bedroom door and stopped dead in his tracks. Hit with a sweep of vertigo, he had to blink twice to see what he was seeing.
He still didn’t believe his eyes.
Maria was on her hands and knees, eating Sally. The hybrid looked up at him and he looked down at her. Neither said a word. Maria leaned against the bed, looking as woozy as a two a.m. drunk.
Her belly was visibly full.
She was a glutton if ever he’d seen one.
A choked reply fell out of his mouth, a wounded, wasted sound that defied description. Then something happened and he felt his dark eyes go flat. He walked over to her, almost like he wasn’t himself, like something or someone else was guiding him, and that’s when he spit a loogie right at her. The gobbet smacked her neck and stuck. She didn’t flinch.
“Calling you evil would be a copout,” he hissed. She gave him a slight smile, her teeth stained red, her eyes heavy and her belly stuffed from the gorging. Shaking inside, he said, “You’re the devil if I’ve ever met him.”
Staggering across the hallway, agitation and a spot of dizziness pulling at him, he opened the door to the studio apartment he’d slept in before, roiled at the stink of piss and neglect, then decided a bed was a bed no matter who died or peed in it.
For a long time, he laid there and cried, and he swore. And then he tried to swallow despite his mouth being so dry he felt he might choke to death for the effort.
Earlier, when he looked at her in her worst state, she told him she was beaten, but not broken. How could she not be broken? A freaking grenade went off in her room! Was there any way to break this creature? Had she made herself indestructible?
Laid out flat on the bed, his body aching to all hell, he would have slept if not for his racing pulse and unbearable body temperature. Then, just before he was offered a reprieve, the words, “Beaten and broken” left his mouth.
He’d been referring to himself, of course.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aaron knew he had to have the meeting. He didn’t want to. Not now. But how could he not? Maria was just blown up, and yet she was still alive.
How was she alive?
He could deal with that, even though he didn’t know how such a thing was possible, but then Carver came down to the lobby with two broken bones and an arm flopped over in the middle.
To think she got blown up and then did that scared the absolute bejesus out of him. If she could do that to her lover, would she snap and simply kill them all? Taylor already died due to her tantrum. And he was just trying to help her!
There’s no way he could take the chance any longer. Something had to be done. Something bold. That meant he had to think like her, not like himself.
He had to think dirty and outside the box.
The crew was gathered in the lobby where a few minutes ago he strung up a set of Christmas lights one of the guys found a few hours ago. The mood should have felt festive, perhaps a bit celebratory; their emotions were anything but cheerful. Even the night was setting in quickly and with a cold bite. This left the place smelling earthy, and a touch damp.
“Fridge isn’t so warm anymore,” Danny said. It was a statement meant to ward off the dark mood, but it failed to lift their collective spirits.
“That’s good,” Aaron said, his tone grim, “but we’ve got more pressing matters.”
The guys were huddled around in the lobby, avoiding the large smears and drag marks of Taylor’s blood, yet unable to stop the occasional glimpse. The dry, brownish-red mess was a glaring reminder that they’d hitched their wagon to the wrong horse.
“Can’t we at least celebrate the electricity?” Rusty asked.
Rusty was one of the guys they just picked up. He sounded more desperate than Danny. The long haul trucker was in his mid-thirties and still a little heavy for the times. If Aaron hadn’t known he was a trucker, he would’ve thought the man pumped gas at one time, or manned a toll booth, or worked night security for a small firm. There was nothing interesting about him. Not in the way he looked, not in how he talked, and certainly not in the things he said. For a second, Aaron looked at him and wished Maria had gone after him instead of Taylor. At least Taylor had some life and manners to him.
“I agree we could celebrate,” Aaron said, “but what I have to say will give no one any room to rejoice. I’m afraid things have gone from tough to untenable.”
“You talking about Taylor?” Paul asked. Paul was an older man in his mid-fifties. He was a longtime friend of both Rusty and Taylor, but he’d just met Tim, Amir and Wilson after the drone war and after the EMP. They made up the newest six member
s of this doomed community.
“I am, in part,” Aaron said.
“She ripped his arm off,” Wilson said, accentuating the statement. “She tossed it aside like it was a piece of garbage.”
“We were all there,” Amir said in a small, sullen tone.
“Taylor was a mutt,” Tim rumbled, “but that was no excuse to do what she did.”
“He wasn’t a mutt,” Paul growled, stepping to his friend’s defense. “And have some respect for the dead, will ya? His body ain’t even cold yet.”
“How the hell’d she even do it in the first place?” Tim asked. “Because as far as I’m concerned, that isn’t possible.”
Tim seemed the most capable of them all, but that’s because he came across as the most likely to haul off and kill everyone if the mood struck. Even Aaron could see he was a dog that needed to be on a tight leash.
“Don’t know,” Danny said. “She punched our friend’s face in. Put a crater in his skull like it was made of eggshell. Cletus was his name. Dropped dead right then and there.”
“Cletus the fetus,” Aaron mused under his breath.
He was remembering what Maria said, how she looked after killing him. It was like she thought no more of Cletus than an insect she’d just crushed underfoot.
Aaron gave a short, defeated laugh, his chest jumping once before the gravity of the situation sank in and he began to realize they made a very big mistake coming into her fold.
“She just punched a hole in it?” Amir asked. “Down through the bones and everything?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Aaron recalled, his voice softer, the memories haunting and rooted too deep in him to exorcise. “It was like his nose just exploded.”
“So what do we do about her?” Amir asked. “There’s clearly something wrong with her.”
Amir was the voice of reason in the group, but he was small and unpopular, and for that Aaron needed him to stay behind. There was something about the weakest link that seemed to always be getting people killed.
Amir was clearly the weakest link.
“We need to go, take Loomis before she does,” Aaron answered, fully alert and on task again.
His eyes dipped to the dried circle of blood.
A dizzying sensation ran through him as he tried to imagine what it would be like to have his arm ripped off. One minute it was there and you were whole, the next minute nothing worked and your life was over just as soon as you got done bleeding to death.
He tried to shake off the chilling sensation, but he couldn’t do it. The sick sensation stuck to him like an insect to flypaper.
“You want to edge her out?” Tim asked beneath his breath.
“I do,” he nodded, his expression clearing.
“What if she catches us, Aaron?” Danny whispered. It’s clear he was scared of her. Everyone was. “She knows where Loomis is. She knows it because she lived there.”
“Didn’t say we were gonna call it home,” Aaron replied. “We hook this solar unit up to Carver’s truck. Danny here knows how to hot-wire it if we can’t get the key. Then we go. That’ll give us a head start.”
“I can’t hot-wire that one,” Danny mumbled, sheepishly.
“What did you say, Danny?”
“I said I can’t hot-wire that one,” he grumbled, his face getting red even in what little light remained.
“Dammit, Danny, you haven’t even tried,” he hissed.
“That time I hot-wired that Ford, that was Cletus. I couldn’t do it, so he did. He said I was a moron, but at least he promised not to rat me out.”
“Well that would have been nice to know,” Aaron said through narrowed eyes. Shaking his head in dismay, he said, “Okay then, is there anyone else who can hot-wire a Ford?”
No one said anything.
Frustrated, he said, “What good are any of you? Huh? What kind of a crap ass group can’t hot-wire a car?”
“Who croaked and made you queen bee?” Tim asked, turning on him.
“I did, Tim,” he barked. “You have a problem with that?”
“So why don’t you do it then?” he challenged, calm.
Glaring first at Tim, then at Danny—embarrassed that he couldn’t hot-wire the thing either—he said, “Danny, you and your team are going to have to walk there. Maybe find some bikes along the way, if you can.”
“That’s fine,” he said. He shoved his hands in his pockets, unable to look his friend in the eye. Under the heavy shadows of night and the Christmas lights, he looked like a painting you’d see hanging in a downtown dive bar, the really depressing kind. “I just need directions is all.”
“I need four volunteers to go—fighters preferably. It could get a little ugly.”
Four hands went up quickly. Tim wasn’t one of them. He just sat there like an irate wife, refusing to budge.
Great.
“Okay, good,” Aaron said. “But you’ll need to bring a truck back. In the meantime, I’ll try to get the key from Carver.”
“What about her?” Danny asked, referring to Maria.
Judging by the number of heads bobbing in agreement, this was the question everyone wanted answered. Sadly, Aaron didn’t know what to do about her. So when asked, he simply shrugged his shoulders. He knew he couldn’t kill her. He didn’t even want to try.
“That’s it?” Amir asked. “You just shrug your shoulders?”
Aaron was unsure of almost everything, but one thing he knew for certain, and that’s that he was going to try to get the key, get the hell out of there, and hopefully never see the woman again in this life or the next.
“When you get to Loomis, if you have to, take the homestead by force. And get a vehicle. A truck if they have one. You’re going to want to grab as much as you can in as little time as you can, and then get back here before she comes around. If we’re lucky, if God’s on our side, we’ll have a better chance of surviving her and getting out of here alive. But only if you move quickly.”
Tim spoke up. He said, “If you want us to go to these people who haven’t done nothin’ to us but try to live, if you want us to rob them blind and with force—which’ll probably mean killing them—then God ain’t going to be on our side now or ever.”
“It’s merely an expression,” Aaron said, lost now in the darkness of this man’s spirit, and the truth he spoke.
“It’s also a lot of what-ifs,” Amir replied.
The Arab let that statement hang out there on the edge of forever. If it was intended to make everyone rethink Aaron’s plan, it was taking hold.
“You have a better idea, short Gandhi?” Aaron said, his patience waning.
“First off, Gandhi was an Indian. I’m from Iran,” he said, his tone and expression overtly sardonic. “There’s a big difference to the educated man. That’s why I forgive you for your misstep without you even having to ask.”
Ignoring Amir, Tim asked, “How many men are there?”
“I don’t know,” Aaron replied. “She never said. I think if we have five guys, we should be okay. And if you’re outgunned or outmanned, if you think you can’t handle it, fall back, regroup and we’ll draft a plan B later.”
“We can fight,” Tim said, certain, steadfast. “We just can’t fight her. Whatever she is, she’s not natural, and I ain’t afraid to say it.”
“I know,” Aaron acquiesced.
“Who is she?”
“She said she did this,” Aaron said.
“Did what?” Tim asked.
“All of this. She said it just like that. Spread her arms out, like all the destruction was her doing. She seemed…proud of it.”
“She didn’t do this,” Danny said. “She’s just nuts.”
“Regardless,” Aaron said. “Get the knives together. We’ve got a few decent ones. If you’re going to travel, you’ve got to go light.”
“What about guns?” Tim asked.
“We’ve got plenty of guns,” Aaron said. “Just no ammo.”
“Alr
ight,” Danny said, “when are we going?”
“Tonight. It’s a long walk—”
“I know where we can get bikes,” Tim finally said. “Saw some when we were out scavenging.”
“Really?” Aaron asked.
“Yep.”
“Do you remember exactly where you found them?”
“Ayup,” he said, dragging out the word, still mad-dogging Aaron.
“Finally a freaking break,” Aaron said, relieved. “Alright, gather around, I’m going to draw you a map.”
“Didn’t say I was going,” Tim said, half an inch away from looking down his nose at Aaron.
“You’re going or I’m going to beat you to death with my bare hands,” he said, stepping forward. “Go ahead and test me Tim.”
The man backed up, put his hands up in surrender, then said, “Chill bro, I was just funnin’ is all.”
Aaron was looking at this city rat with a backwoods mentality thinking he didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with this crap. On some deeper level, he just might understand why Maria would rather kill someone than try to rationalize with them, or even put up with them.
“Calm down, bro,” Danny snorted. Aaron was over the edge, psycho-eying Tim. In his mind, Aaron saw five ways he was going to kill the fool.
Still, Danny was right.
“We’re wasting time,” Danny said, nudging him again. “You’re wasting our time, which is precious in light of, you know…her.” He said this as he looked over at the stairwell leading up to the veritable lion’s den.
“About that map,” Aaron said, his trance broken, his focus renewed.
When the plan was laid out, solid and agreed upon, they mapped out a clear route to the Loomis compound as Maria described it. Then Tim flippantly said to Aaron, “You can keep the little Arab.”
“I was going to tell you that you can take the guys,” Amir said, unaffected by Tim’s repudiation of him. “I’d prefer to help Aaron protect the rest of humanity from her, just in case.”
“What are you going to do?” Tim asked. “Get stuck under her feet on the way out?”
Aaron interrupted and said, “Amir, you and I need to stay vigilant.”
