Tomorrow Land Part 12

"Well, like you said, maybe there will be TV again someday. Or at least plays."

"Maybe so, but I won't be acting in them," she said ruefully, gesturing to her eyes. "Unless the new Hollywood is all about casting freaks."

"Don't say that." Chase frowned.

"Why not?" she snapped back, feeling annoyed. He was trying to be nice, but she knew how she looked and didn't need to be patronized. "I've got mirrored implants fused to my eyeb.a.l.l.s."

"The better to see in the dark."

"And four centimeter razors underneath my fingernails." She released the blades, and they glinted in the firelight. She'd been tinkering with them all night, trying to figure out why they were malfunctioning.

"The better to fight with."

She rolled her eyes beneath her implants and retracted her blades. "Okay, Mr. Big Bad Wolf. Whatever you say."

But Chase caught her hand in his, running a thumb along the inside of her palm. She shivered involuntarily at his unexpected touch. "I'm serious," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You may feel like a freak, but to me your enhancements are beautiful. Your razors saved us from Spud. He was about to eat Darla, but you stepped in and smacked him down. And today you took on two zombies, all by yourself, saving Drummer's life."

She sighed, staring down at her hand. "I know the razors are useful," she admitted, not wanting to enjoy his touch as much as she did. "But I can't help looking at them and seeing... seeing how things might have been if my father didn't have his way."

"Well, not that it matters what I think, of course," Chris said, "but to me you're still as gorgeous as you were in high school," he murmured. "A G.o.ddess."

Her heart fluttered, and she was plagued by a score of memories. Chris Parker had always been sweet. In some ways he'd changed, like she had, but in other ways...

Inspired, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the gift he'd given her so long before, holding it out in her palm. "Do you remember this?" she asked. The tiny bit of broken gla.s.s caught the firelight and sparkled.

He stared at it for a moment, then recognition lit up his face. "The diamond?" he asked in a breathless voice.

She nodded. "You told me I needed to look beyond the surface. To see the beauty deep inside."

"I sure was wise for a kid. Pretty darned romantic, too." He looked at her and grinned.

"Well, you managed to win me over anyway."

"You know, I meant everything I said that day," he told her, his earnest eyes searching her face. "And you're still a diamond, at least in my eyes."

He was close. She could feel his warm breath on her face, once again doing crazy things to her insides. She knew she should resist, get up and walk away while she still could. After all, there was no use in restarting a relationship. It would only distract her, and she had a mission. Maybe when and if everything was over and fixed, when she'd done what she needed to...

But she found, try as she might, she couldn't look away, trapped once again by his kryptonite-colored eyes. They were so brilliant in the firelight they glowed, and she found her traitorous body moving forward instead of away. Her traitorous heart pounded in her chest, and her traitorous lungs struggled to take in air that had grown almost too thick to breathe.

Chase drew her hand to his lips and kissed her palm with an unbearable softness. She squirmed as sensations coursed through her, too hard and fast to catalog. She'd gone four years without being touched. And now it was almost too much to bear.

He smelled of the earth: rich, dark, delicious. She suddenly wanted nothing more than the opportunity to see what he tasted like as well.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

He needed no second invitation. Taking her head in his hands, he pulled her forward, pressing his lips against hers. Softly, almost reverently. Then harder. At first she was convinced she was going to pa.s.s out from excitement, but she managed to stay conscious somehow and kiss him back.

His tongue invaded her mouth. It was awkward at first-neither of them had had very much practice at the whole kissing thing-but good all the same. He explored with soft, cautious strokes, and she soon met his tongue with her own.

"Oh, G.o.d, you feel so good," he groaned against her mouth. He trailed kisses down her jaw and neck. She reached up to his face, sc.r.a.ping her fingers across the light stubble on his cheeks. "I've missed you so much."

She breathed him in, wrapping her hands around his neck. His scent, leather mixed with something muskier, invaded her senses and clouded her thoughts. At that moment there was no apocalypse. No zombies. No mad dash to Disney World. There was just a boy and a girl-a 21st century Adam and Eve-in a brave new world.

His hand wandered from her neck down to her shoulder, then lowered to the curve of her waist. It was only a slight touch, but enough to spiral her back to reality. What was she doing? She'd promised herself she wouldn't get involved. And yet here she was: first night on their journey, ready to go all the way.

She struggled to put s.p.a.ce between them, pushing out a hand to back him up. He resisted at first, probably too confused and dazed to realize what she wanted. So she pushed again, this time reaching for his face. She had to stop the kiss before it paralyzed her and convinced her to do something she was very likely to regret.

Unfortunately, in her dazed state, her malfunctioning cybernetics took the opportunity to activate. Her razors slipped out. She felt them sink into flesh.

Chase gasped and backed off, clutching his cheek. Blood streamed through his fingers. "Oh my G.o.d, Peyton. You cut me!"

Chapter Nineteen.

"Can you stop for a second and tell me what we're running from?" Chris asked breathlessly, grabbing her arm. They'd fled the hospital and run off into the woods, Peyton looking like she'd seen something a lot worse than a ghost. He leaned over, hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath.

"Oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d," Peyton sobbed, collapsing onto the forest floor.

He joined her, concerned. He put a hand on her back and peered into her eyes. She looked terrified. "What did you see?" he asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. After all, what could be worse than the pile of corpses in a dumpster?

"It was like a monster!" she blurted out. "I mean, it was sort of like a person, too. But... different. And it wasn't dead. It really wasn't dead." She burst out into a fresh set of tears, her whole body shaking.

He rubbed her back, trying to calm her. He needed her calmer so she would start making sense. "A monster. Are you sure?" he asked.

She looked up sharply. "I know what I saw."

"Okay, okay." He held his hands up. "I believe you. I'm just trying to get all the information. What do you think happened?"

"I don't know. I've never seen anything like it. It was like... a zombie or something."

Chris remembered his earlier jokes with Stephen. They'd seemed a lot funnier at the time. But it was also ludicrous. A killer plague was one thing. Real-life zombies were quite another. "Er, maybe I should go back and take a look."

She grabbed onto him, her knuckles white and her eyes wide. "No!" she cried. "Please don't! I don't want to be alone!"

Instinctively he pulled her into a tight embrace. She responded, her body pressing against his, so close it seemed as if she was trying to crawl inside of him. His body tightened, but he willed himself not to get turned on. He didn't want her to think he was taking advantage of her vulnerability. Still, how could he just ignore the feel of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s smashed up against his chest and her hot shaky breaths pounding at his earlobe? She smelled so sweet; like honeysuckle and mint gum. It was all he could do not to kiss her.

But no, she wouldn't like that. She didn't think of him that way. She was only clinging now out of fear, not desire. He would end up, once again, in the role of a friend. And he'd have set himself up for disappointment.

He could enjoy the physical contact now, though. And he'd protect his G.o.ddess from whatever came after them. At the very least, maybe she'd be grateful.

"Shhh," he whispered, stroking her head. "I won't let anything happen to you." He liked saying that. It made him sound manly and brave. He wondered if she'd buy it.

"Thanks," she sniffed. She pulled her head away from his shoulder and looked him in the eye. "I really appreciate that."

"Of course," he said. He gave her a little wink. "You know I'd do anything for a diamond."

She chuckled a little and sank further down on the forest floor, leaving his arms. He felt lonely, rejected. But he fought it.

"All those dead bodies," she mused. "And that one... What does it all mean?"

Chris shook his head, forcing his thoughts back to the hospital. "I have no idea," he said. "But it seems to me that the Super Flu rumor is very real. And obviously the government isn't telling people the truth. I mean, you'd never know from watching the regular news that this is going on. And it's happening right under our very noses."

Peyton picked up a stick and broke it in two. She looked at Chris. "I'm scared," she admitted. "I'm really scared."

Chris sat down next to her and took her hand in his. He squeezed it. "I'm scared, too," he said. "But we're in this together, okay? If things get bad, we'll figure something out."

"Like what?"

He wasn't sure. Thinking for a moment, he suggested, "We could leave town. Go someplace safe up in the mountains."

"Away from the Super Flu?"

"Yes. Where we go... well, up there the air will be cleaner. There won't be any people. We'll be safe." He imagined him keeping her safe. Hunting for food, cooking her meals, making sure she had everything she needed. It sounded like a little bit of Heaven.

She nodded. "That may not be a bad idea," she said. "If things get really bad."

"But who knows?" he said, forcing himself to sound cheerful. "By this time next month we could be laughing about the whole thing."

She smiled ruefully. "I hope you're right," she said. "But for some reason, I don't think it'll be that funny."

Chris pulled her close and kissed the top of her head in the most rea.s.suring way he could. But truth be told, neither did he.

Chapter Twenty.

"Oh my G.o.d, I'm so sorry!" Peyton cried as blood streamed between Chase's fingers, splashing onto the ground. She'd cut him. How badly? "I didn't mean... I didn't mean..."

Her mind flashed back to what he'd said as they first walked into Walmart. No doctors. No hospitals. A single scratch could be a death sentence.

"d.a.m.n!" Chase swore under his breath. "That flecking stings."

"Let me see," she commanded, retracting her razors. "I need to know how bad it is."

Chase obediently removed his fingers from the wound. It was impossible to tell how deep the cut was with all that blood. Peyton looked around at the children-they were all still asleep, thank goodness; she didn't need to deal with freaked-out kids on top of everything else. She rushed quietly inside the motel room behind them. Grabbing a couple washcloths, she came back and pressed one against Chase's wound. He twitched but didn't cry out.

After a moment, she pulled the b.l.o.o.d.y cloth away. "I think you might need st.i.tches," she said, eyeing the cut. It was long, though thankfully not deep. Apparently the razors had been at a shallow angle.

"Great." His face was pale. His lips trembled. Obviously he was in a lot of pain, even if he wasn't comfortable showing it. "Just great."

"It's okay. My mom taught me how to st.i.tch wounds. She was a nurse before she had me. I can sew you up," she a.s.sured him. "Where's that first-aid kit?"

He motioned to one of the supply bags a few feet away. She handed him back the washcloth and he held it against his face. "Be right back," she said.

Scrambling to her feet, she headed over to the bags and began her search for the med kit. What an idiot she'd been. Playing with fire. For one brief moment she'd forgotten who she was. Not an innocent teenage girl, experiencing first love all over again, but a soldier. A killing machine, thanks to her father. And anyone who came between her and her mission ran the risk of bodily harm, whether by her choice or not.

Whatever happened, she couldn't allow herself to touch Chase again. He was better off without her, even if he didn't realize it.

But, oh, that kiss. That kiss.

Her mouth still felt a bit bruised, and she was sure her face was flushed bright red. She licked her lips, remembering how it felt to have his mouth on hers, tasting her as if she were some gourmet treat and he'd been banned from the dessert bar for a thousand years.

Come on, Peyton! The guy's bleeding to death over there, and all you can think of is kissing him? What would your mother say? What would your father say?

She found the first-aid kit and headed back to where he sat. Pulling out her supplies, she handed him a vial of antiseptic and some gauze, then instructed him to clean the cut. He complied, cringing at the sting of alcohol on the wound. In the meantime, she threaded her needle and, grabbing a stick from the fire, brushed the flame across it: a makeshift sterilization, the best she could come up with on short notice.

"How are you doing?" she asked, half-afraid of his answer.

"Fine," he replied through clenched teeth.

He didn't look fine to her. In fact, he looked like he was going to pa.s.s out at any second. He was paying big-time for her stupid mistake. A part of her wondered if he'd thought the kiss was worth it, but then she scolded herself for being ridiculous. More than likely he was regretting he'd ever run into her.

"G.o.d, I'm so sorry," she found herself saying again. As if repeated apologies would make the skin meld back together and magically heal. "I never meant to... Oh, never mind." She quit talking. What good would it do anyway? And besides, there would be time for apologies later. Right now she needed to focus. She needed to get him sewn up before he lost any more blood.

"Um, one second," he said as she readied herself to start st.i.tching, reaching into his pocket. She watched as he withdrew some kind of prescription bottle. What were those pills, and why did he have them? But he didn't explain. Just said, "This should help," as he popped the cap with his teeth and tossed back a few pills. Swallowing, he removed the b.l.o.o.d.y washcloth from his cheek. "Fix me," he said, closing his eyes.

And so she fixed him. Carefully, so as to not hurt him any more than necessary, she st.i.tched the cut closed. Each time she jabbed the needle into his flesh, his body trembled a little. But through it all he stayed silent, brave, solid, only his clenched jaw and the beads of sweat on his forehead giving any indication as to his pain.

It didn't take long, and the bleeding subsided. The cut looked nasty and he'd probably have a scar. But as long as the cut didn't get infected, everything should be okay. Maybe they could find a hospital in a neighboring town, find some heavier duty antibiotics than the ones in the first-aid kit, the topical salve she was currently applying.

"I'm done," she informed him, then realized he couldn't hear her. He was out for the count, completely pa.s.sed out. Was it from the pain? Or the drugs he'd just taken? Either way, she guessed it was probably for the best. She dabbed his sweaty forehead with another washcloth, then sank down beside him, wondering what she should do now. They had talked about sharing night-watch duties, but she doubted he was in any state to handle them at the moment. And he wasn't going to be much help moving the kids into the motel room.

Chase groaned and shifted, his head dropping onto her shoulder. Lost in sleep, he looked like a little boy, his mouth twisted in unconscious anguish.

She wondered if pain was chasing him through his dreams. Against her better judgment, she reached over and stroked his head, trying to soothe him into a more restful sleep. She shouldn't have cared. She should have risen to her feet and left him there, stopped herself from getting emotionally involved. She should have carried each of the children inside the motel to a better protected spot. But she found she couldn't, and instead she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling each silky smooth strand. Chase thrashed a final time, then fell still, unconsciously cuddling against her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

It was too tender. Too poignant. She should remove his hand. Stand up. Walk away. But she didn't. She just sat there, willing herself to stay awake, praying they wouldn't have any unwanted visitors. Some tough girl she was. Her father would be so proud.

Trapped in the strong grip of the drugs, Chase swam from nightmare to nightmare, chased by flesh-eating zombies who'd soon catch up to him and tear him apart, limb from limb, only to put him back together and start all over again.

At last he woke, suddenly, dripping in cold sweat, and for a moment he wasn't sure where he was. Then it all came back to him. Peyton. The kiss. The searing pain that interrupted that kiss as she'd sliced his cheek open with one of her razors.

He couldn't help laughing, albeit hysterically. Now he knew how the Others felt, why that first one ran so fast after experiencing her wrath. Reaching up, he touched his cheek, surprised when his fingers found tiny st.i.tches striping the cut. Then he remembered the rest. She'd sewn him up. She'd stopped the bleeding and likely saved his life.