by Kat Quinn
“Stop!” I cry weakly, but he doesn’t. “Stop!” I plead, pushing his other hand aside, causing him to face-plant right on my chest. It’s still warm, Monty’s power is always warm. He’s barely alive, and I’m getting all the juice in his juice box factory. “Please stop, please!” Wriggling, squirming, I fight to get out from beneath him, get away and give him a chance. Don’t worry about me, Monty, I’m okay, see? I’m a squirmy wormy, squirmy worms always make it!
As I break free, he collapses. Too afraid to touch him in case he tricks me, I stare with my heart in my throat at his side, waiting for any kind of movement at all. Breathing. Monty’s breathing.
I let out a ragged breath of my own, relieved he isn’t dead. I’m not dead. Nobody’s dead.
The breath turns into a wheeze, something more than my heart caught in my throat. Wheeze, wheeze, cough. My chest heaves, coughs with sharp claws trying to shred apart my insides. Something wet comes flying from my mouth, splattering on the ground in little droplets. Then bigger droplets, until a giant, wriggling mass breaks loose, angry to be ripped away from my throat cave. It splats hard, and it’s like a thousand pounds have been lifted off my chest, sunshine poured straight into my bones. I’m not just alive, I feel alive.
Looking up, I see chaos. There’s people running in all different directions down the wide hall, some towards us, some away and side-to-side.
Kieran, Lin, and Zeke are yelling at a blackened skeleton. A skeleton with ruby red orbs in its eye sockets, and a milky white stone shimmering around its neck.
Miss Fern is in a heap at their feet.
Standing, uncertain, I feel my strength returning in huge, giddy, crashing waves, one after the other. Unsteady to power-lifter in the span of a few seconds. I take a step towards my men, but it doesn’t quite work out, face getting reacquainted with the ground almost immediately. Some power-lifter I am, can’t even lift my own power.
Kieran doesn’t catch me, but he tries. Ping-pong balls ping their pongs around my noodle, scrambled with a side of toast.
“Fireball, you have to go. You have to get out of here. I need you to be okay.” Kieran picks me up off the ground, gently making sure I’m steady on my feet before scooping Monty up and not-so-gently slapping him in the face a couple of times. “Wake up, hero boy!” Kieran shouts, “Naptime’s over!”
Monty just barely manages to open his eyes, knees and ankles protesting under his weight with a sway.
“You saved the girl you big damned hero, now it’s time to get the fuck out of here!” Kieran yells, slapping Monty in the face once again. A little too late, Monty tries to block it. “There you go, right as rain,” Kieran says more gently, bringing his friend in for a tight hug before shoving him in the direction of the stairs we came down. Monty stumbles like a drunken zombie towards them, whole entire body dragging itself forward with extreme effort.
“Okay,” I say, “Let’s go. Looks too hairy for a comb in here anyway,” I note the explosion of traffic that’s managed to partially reach us, Lin and Zeke already turning to meet them with weapons raised.
Tenderly, Kieran strokes the back of a furry finger down the side of my cheek, sticky with a thick coating of blood. “No, Fireball, you have to go. You have to run.” Roughly, he grabs the back of my head, slamming our lips together for a harsh, demanding kiss. “I love you,” he whispers, world spinning around the words.
Kieran shoves me in the shoulders hard, sending me windmilling backwards a few steps before my ass slams right onto the ground all over again.
A ground which is beginning to rumble. I look up at Kieran, face contorted in pain or rage or concentration, I don’t know which, but I’m pretty sure the big idiot’s about to do something stupid. The ceiling and floor start to crack, both made of marble or stone or something like that, I’m not really sure, but it’s clearly something Kieran can tap into.
“Don’t you dare!” I shout, scrambling to get up in time with these uncoordinated, rebellious limbs.
The last thing I see before the ceiling comes crashing down is Kieran’s stupid face as the stupid idiot asshole dingbat fuck nut blocks me out, his eyes softening at the last possible second before the hole closes up.
“No!” I scream so hard my throat feels like knives. With both fists, I pound uselessly on the jagged wall between us. “You can’t do this!”
It’s not like he can hear me, I can barely hear myself over the stupid screeching alarm. “Please, don’t leave me!” I beg, breaths catching as I struggle to gain them through a building wave of panic. I don’t want to be alone any more, I don’t want to lose you! I can’t lose any of you!
“Run. Don’t stop.” Zeke’s voice rings in my head. “We’ll find you. You aren’t alone. Now, RUN.” He demands, a thought so forceful it makes me physically stumble backwards.
Wiping at my eye angrily as hot tears start to form, I yell back “You’d better!”
“Just watch them try to stop me.”
I don’t try to wipe away the tears this time, letting them fall as my chest cracks open. I’m a piñata of pain, the only thing spilling out of me heartache. Candy would have tasted so much sweeter. Turning, I catch up and hook an arm under Monty’s shoulder, helping him along.
Then I do the one thing I told them I’d never do again; I run.
69. Dizzy
Monty and I trip over each other, switching off who’s dragging who along. I don’t feel strong right now, I barely feel strong enough to feel weak. I’m too numb to finish processing, set on the goal. Run. Run. You have to run. I don’t even know where, I don’t know for how long.
You have to run.
My legs are almost as heavy as my heart, only one of them still pumping. It’s not long before my legs fail me, too, and I face plant. Dragging myself to my feet, I try to keep going, but fall down; again, and again, and again. There’s a wall in my way and it comes with one hell of a bitch slap.
Fuck you, gravity, what gives you the right to target me and bring me down? I have to keep going.
My boots slip and slide in mud as I go absolutely nowhere, not even an inch. Falling to my knees, I look up and scream, just absolutely scream at nobody. My fists don’t even have time to squelch as I pound them again and again into the wet ground. What am I doing here? I shouldn’t have left them! I have to go back, have to protect the people I care about! They need me. And I can’t lose them, I can’t.
Scrabbling to my feet, I turn, blindly trying to find the way back through the rain. When did it start to rain?
My feet slip and slide along until I trip, slamming down heavily on something it’s too dark to make out. The one thing I’ve ever been good at doing is running, and I can’t even do that right? Electric sour jumping beans fizzle all throughout my insides, crashing into each other and bouncing faster and faster off my walls. The metallic, sweaty taste of vomit threatens to touch my tongue; actually sick with worry.
I shouldn’t have left them! What if something happens and I could have stopped it? No, no, no, I would have just messed it up, I mess everything up. I’m cursed, for crying out loud! Disaster’s always anywhere I turn up. No, it’s better if they don’t get stuck around me. It’s better if I stay away. It’s better if I give up.
The electric beans fizzle out and die, leaving behind a sad smattering of sea foam, not nearly deep enough to drown my sorrows in. What’s the point?
This time, I don’t bother trying to get up again. I’m too tired. Tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of letting everyone around me down. Tired of this ache in my chest like my whole heart is missing, tired of trying to pretend I’m strong and everything’s okay and the world’s all sunshine and candy drops. I’m so tired.
Curling up, I dig my face into whatever I fell down on, soft and warm and earthy-smelling, like sage and bay leaves and freshly cut herbs. I wrap my arms around it and cry, begging the earth to open up and swallow me whole just to stop me from having to face any of this any more.
I’m so worn ou
t, so lost, I don’t notice the thing I’m crying against is breathing. I don’t register the blanket of warmth that comes and tries to shelter me from the cold. I don’t notice the leaves as they shift and grow, slowing the rain.
All I notice is the way my tears don’t wash away my fears, how my heart can’t stop switching between pounding too hard and then not at all, how the knots in my stomach are so scrambled up they’ll never just be a normal stomach again. I don’t even notice when sleep finally takes me in its weary embrace, apologizing gently for mercifully wriggling its way into my space.
70. Dizzy
I wake slowly to birds chirping away cheerfully, immediately in a sour mood. Don’t they know there’s nothing around to be cheery for? I’d scream at them to shut up, threaten to call the cops on them, but it wouldn’t be right to put their families through that stress. Plus, I don’t really know much about bird law and can’t be entirely confident I’d win my case in court. Birds chirp, it’s what they do, grumpy bitches don’t just get their way because they want it.
The ground beneath me moves, up and down, up and down, just a little. My eyes are so crusted together by dried tears that I might be a decent stand-in for pie if you served me up with a side of whipped cream. As I wipe the crust away, it dawns on me that the thing beneath me is breathing, and it’s breathing because it’s Monty.
When did Monty fall down?
How did I lose track of Monty? Mentally, I beat my own head against a brick wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid Dizzy. I was so blinded by my hurt and confusion and self-loathing, I all but forgot about the one person who nearly killed himself saving my life. The least I can freakin’ do is not abandon him in a goddamned… Forest?
A blanket of moss is draped over us both, tucked in safe against the night. Beyond, a ring of flowering but thorny vines keeps watch, letting us rest within its circle of protection. It’s beautiful, but prepared to get ugly.
“Monty?” I ask, tentatively moving the arm I’ve slung across his chest to stroke his cheek. His very, very hot cheek.
No-no-no-no-no-no-no, you can’t get sick now Monty, I don’t know how to take care of anyone who’s sick! Choking back another wave of tears working to crash through the shores of my eyelids, I try to force all the feelings down. The frustration, the fear, the anxiety, the grief; they’re just one more drop away from crushing me like a tin can at a recycling plant, overtaking me and becoming the only things left behind.
I can’t break down now. I can’t. Monty needs me.
Monty becomes my mission. Monty becomes my focus. I will keep him safe, I will protect him, I won’t let him down.
Straightening my spine, I steel against any lingering jostles of turbulence, telling myself that I am calm and capable and confident. What would Monty do if I was him and he was me? No matter what, he always starts with food. So, I will too.
There’s no need to ask it, the moss lets me leave freely to crawl out, tucking Monty in as I go.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him. He doesn’t move. That’s okay, I’m a pro at talking to no one. “You stick here and hold down the fort while I get us some breakfast, m’kay?” Turning, I let out a controlled breath. Hold it together, Dizzy, hold it together.
The vines let me through without a scratch, I thank them as I pass.
“Now, if I was food, where would I be?” I muse aloud, following whatever path my feet take. It’s easy to put one in front of the other when you give yourself a mission; a reason to keep going. It’s less easy when the steps you take start to get lumpy, accompanied by a loud crunch. But then it’s easy again when you realize those crunchy bits are walnuts, and there’s plenty to pluck up off the ground. My shoulders ache as I reach for the nuts, but I ignore them. My legs protest almost every step, but I keep on usin’ them. Life’s full of plenty of ups and downs if you go for a stroll through the forest.
It’s simple enough to take off my barely wearable shreds of jacket and use them as a makeshift basket, picking up the thick green balls with secret shells hidden inside. I thank them for making themselves plentiful while picking up a couple of rocks to crack them open with.
It’s only been a few minutes, but I’m nervous about leaving Monty alone. What if he wakes up and I’m not there? Still, walnuts aren’t all that filling.
A few feet more, and there’s plump figs ripening on another tree, bitter dandelion leaves begging for my belly, blood oranges popping up out of nowhere. Is this a forest or a fantasy orchard? The earth practically overflows with options as soon as I need them, offering up every gift it can. The convenience is almost comical in its absolute absurdity. I accept, grateful for the unexpected bounty, not really one to question the unexpected. Stranger things have happened, and at least this is a particularly helpful strange.
Jacket overflowing with a rainbow of produce, it doesn’t take any thought to find Monty; my feet lead me right back to him like it’s where they belong. Just in time, too, as my knees start to feel the smallest wobble.
“Honey, I’m home!” I joke, stepping through the vines. Plopping down next to him, I get to work cracking the nuts open. “The market was practically a ghost town, but gosh if they didn’t have just the most incredible sales!” Monty’s breaths are shallow, his dark skin dull and gray beneath a light sheen of sweat. “Wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I got a bit of everything. Hope you don’t mind! Obviously, you’re way better at building a meal plan than I am.”
By the time I’ve got a nice little pile of walnut meat separated from the brown and grey outsides, Monty’s still laying motionless on the ground. My arms are burning from busting them all open, but they ARE all open.
I scoot closer. The heat radiates off of him like a Monty-shaped furnace. Chewing on the edge of my thumb, I wish there was a way to cool him down, get the fever under control. At least enough to ask him what to do next. Monty’s obviously good at the whole sick nurse thing.
Slowly, a little space in the ground starts to collapse, leaving behind a hollow area that fills with clear, cool water.
Yes, I should probably be creeped out that a magical forest in who-even-knows-where is clearly tapped into my thoughts and desires, but… gift horse. Mouth. Not gonna look too hard into it if it means we get what we need. Might have to see if there’s any fine print lying around, in case I owe a blood debt to demons or something.
Given the state it’s in, it’s a bit gruesome, but I peel off the blood-caked shirt I’m wearing, wringing it out in the tiny pool of water. It only runs red for a little while before clearing back up completely.
Again, gift horse.
Lightly, I dab the cool cloth on Monty’s neck, wicking away the sweat. “I gotta tell ya, this is my first ever sponge bath. Your feedback would be mighty appreciated, if you want to jump in and give me any tips.” A glistening trail of cool water is left everywhere I drag my drenched shirt. Monty doesn’t do any jumping in with tips, despite my hopes.
Bees buzz in my stomach, trying to work their way up my throat. I shove them down instead, forcing myself not to give in and let them take over. He’s going to be okay, I think. We’re all okay, and we’re all going to be okay, and everything ever will be okay. Just keep it together; just keep Monty together.
A stiff breeze skims across my skin, goosebumps springing up like happy little weeds at its touch. Knowing full well it’s a bit ridiculous to do so, I sloppily wrestle my way into the remains of my barely-functional jacket, amazed that the zipper still works, even if the rest of it does let in quite a nasty draft.
Not really sure what else to do, I sit by Monty’s side, munching away on snacks while talking to him about anything that comes to mind, never stopping my attempts to break his fever with a dirty shirt and mystery water. My fingers get so used to fisting the filthy cloth, they lock around it, pain in my abused digits becoming a background noise so quiet, I stop hearing it. Dip cloth, wipe cloth. Dip cloth, wipe cloth. Nothing else matters except taking care of Monty.
The repetitive
ness is mind-numbing; almost meditative. I’m not sure when, but I stop talking out loud, thoughts staying deep inside while I focus only on keeping Monty safe; helping him get better. I won’t let him down, I won’t be the Disaster Zone Jones everyone expects me to be. I’ve got you, Monty, I’ve got you.
Time passes. I start to fade away.
71. Dizzy
My head snaps up.
I’m suddenly awake and alert, though I don’t remember not being either until just now. The pounding of my heart is so loud I can almost hear it through my own chest. Like a compulsion, I search for Monty, nerves settled seeing him still beside me. Well, not settled, but about one notch less frantic.
There’s voices nearby. Men. At least two of them. Immediately on alert, I raise to a crouch, weary legs tight and angry at having been constricted the whole time I was asleep. Shut up, legs, nobody asked you for your opinion! How did they find us? Oh no, oh no-no-no-no, does that mean… the others….? It’s only now I realize the pulling at my wrist that’s been constant since Connor got snatched is completely missing. How long has it been missing?
I will NOT let anything happen to Monty, not on my watch. I have to keep him safe, I can’t let him down! He’s all I have left.
Willing to fight dirty if I have to, I ask the dirt for whatever help it can give me, glad when the vines around us start to thicken and writhe. Their thorns grow to threatening lengths, tiny murderous spears to arm our defenses.
I can hear loud panting over my drumming heartbeat, followed by the scrabbling of paws against earth right outside the wall of thorns.
“Over here!” One of the voices shouts. A dog barks loudly.
My muscles are tensed as I wait, ready to spring into action. The second anyone tries to come at me or Monty, they won’t know what I’m capable of! To be fair, I never really know what I’m capable of, either, but if there’s one thing I know it’s that I’ll do whatever I can.
