Tomorrow Land Part 17

She scratched her wrist absentmindedly as worry p.r.i.c.ked at her brain. Soon. It'd been past soon four hours ago, and it was starting to get late in the day. Had something happened to him? What if he'd met up with a band of Others? Or, heck, anything-who knew what else was lurking in the towns below, hovering in the shadows?

She should have never let him go alone. But someone had to watch the children and he'd acted so sure of himself. And she knew if she'd volunteered to go in his stead, he'd take it as an insult. Just more proof that she thought him incapable of taking care of himself. Of their little group. He'd been so insistent after the hurricane incident. Going above and beyond to prove he was worthy of her trust. It was kind of sweet and so, against her better judgment, she forced herself to relax and let him take the lead. Besides, it had been nice, in a way. She was so tired these days...

But had it been a mistake? Was he in trouble now? Should she go look for him?

She shook her head, trying to free her mind from the dark thoughts that kept invading. Chase was strong and fast. He'd given up the drugs cold turkey. And maybe he wasn't addicted in the first place; maybe she'd just been projecting her mother's problem onto him. Painkillers weren't necessarily a bad thing. And she had cut his face pretty good. Maybe he just misjudged his dose that night. After all, as far as she could tell, he hadn't touched anything since. Not even aspirin.

"When's soon?" Darla whined.

"I don't know!" Peyton retorted angrily before she could stop herself. Darla stared, wide-eyed, then burst into tears, running across the makeshift campsite and into the arms of Starr. Peyton could felt the thirteen-year-old's reproachful glare burn into her backside.

She felt bad for snapping. After all, it wasn't Darla's fault. She was just stressed and scared. But there was no need to take it out on the children.

She rose to her feet and walked over to the kids. "I'm sorry," she said, feeling awkward. "I guess I'm a little worried about him, too. He should be back by now."

"D'you think the Others got him?" Starr asked. She looked like she'd swallowed something sharp and it was cutting through her guts.

"No!" Peyton said, perhaps a bit too vehemently. "He probably just hasn't found any food yet. You know how determined he is. There's no way he'd come back empty-handed."

"I think we should go look for him," Torn suggested. She hadn't realized he was nearby. But then, he and Starr had become nearly inseparable. It reminded Peyton of how she and Chase had been, back in the day. Their closeness made her loneliness feel twice as strong.

"It's been too long. He must be in trouble," Torn added.

Peyton glanced around and realized all the kids had gathered, concerned looks on their faces. "Okay," she said. "There's no use denying it. You're right, and we need to check it out. Torn and Starr, you watch the kids. I'll go out and look for him."

"Shouldn't we all go?" Starr asked.

"Yeah, if there's Others I want to be able to fight!" Torn growled. He was probably fifteen. Which now seemed so young. It was weird to think that when the Super Flu hit, Peyton and Chase had been his age. They'd felt grown up then, too.

"No," Peyton replied. "I need you and Starr to look after the little ones and the horses," she said. "I'll be back as soon as I'm able." The children huddled together, looking like lost puppies. She threw them her bravest smile. "Don't worry," she added. "I'm sure he just found a toy store and is stocking up for you all or something."

But that's not what she really thought at all.

Chase groaned as he swam back to consciousness. How long had he been out? Opening one eye, then the other, he tried to ascertain his surroundings. It appeared he was in some sort of jail. Lying on a stained mattress with a threadbare blanket.

Everything came back to him: His shameful desperation in the pharmacy. Meeting up with Luke. The drugged drink. Him crashing to the floor.

This was not good.

"You're awake."

He whirled around, realizing for the first time that there were two cots in the cell. On the second sat a skinny blond guy in a white tank top and jeans. He had ugly welts all over his arms and a cast on his leg.

"Yeah," Chase replied. Was this guy another prisoner who'd had a run-in with Luke, too? "Where am I?"

"Welcome to the Thunderdome."

Chase c.o.c.ked his head. His fellow prisoner laughed.

"The thunder...?"

"Well, that's what they like to call it. I hear it's an allusion to some old film. Mad Mack or something."

Chase scratched his head, trying to make sense of what the other man was saying. "I was drugged. By a guy..."

"One of their scouts, I'm sure. They hire guys around the city to bring in new recruits. Offer them protection and extra goods in exchange for the service. When people come through town the scouts offer to help them out, get them something they need. That's how they trap 'em."

Chase thought of his encounter with Luke and his own particular, rather embarra.s.sing need, and his face burned. He leapt off the bed and headed over to the door, wrapping his hands around the metal bars. They felt solid. Unmovable.

"No use, man," his cellmate said. "You're stuck until it's your turn in the ring."

Panic flooded Chase. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be trapped like this. Not while Peyton had no idea where he was. Not while she was caring for the children he'd sworn to protect. He imagined them sitting back at the campsite as the sun slipped below the horizon. Would they come looking for him? And what if they ran into Luke or another scout when they did?

He walked back to his cot and sank down, buried his head in his hands. What an idiot he'd been. Following Luke into his home like that. He'd just so desperately wanted to trust his fellow man, he realized in hindsight. To believe that the human race was inherently good-and willing to help one another out, especially in this time of need. But no-in this brave new world, it was every man for himself. And Chase had been played a fool.

He should have gone back right away, once he'd seen the footprint. They could have stopped in the next town, the next empty town. Then he could have presented Peyton with her music box. He would have been a hero. Instead, he was a prisoner. And he didn't have a single person to blame but himself.

"I'm Bowie, by the way," his companion said. "Well, my real name's Mike, but I like going by Bowie now. Like the old Twentieth Century musician. He was great. G.o.d, I miss music."

Chase couldn't believe this guy was babbling like nothing was wrong. His life was over, and this guy was about to launch into a convo about the nice weather they'd been having.

"What's your name?" Bowie asked.

"Chase. Chase Parker."

"Chase Parker." Bowie appeared to consider. "I like that. Good fighting name. You should tell them. Maybe they'll let you keep it."

"Keep it?"

"Sure. If you have a boring name they'll change it. They need to impress the crowd, after all. Can't draw people who aren't interested. Can't interest people with stupid names. Herbie MacMillan versus Beauregard Goldblum! Lawlz. Hardly going to get a crowd with that."

"What?" Chase was getting a worse feeling than ever.

"You don't get it, do you?" Bowie said. "You're a gladiator now."

Chase's stomach roiled. "You mean they're going to make me fight...?"

"Duh. That's what they do here. The town is run by this ex-wrestler named Brutus. He's a bit crazy-obviously. I think he must have been hit in the head a few too many times. But he brought a bunch of survivors together and formed a makeshift government. It's safer here than a lot of places. And every other Friday-if anyone really knows when Friday is these days-they have 'sports.'"

Sports. Great. Bowie likely wasn't talking about reestablishing the Carolina Panthers. "So they recruit fighters for the ring?"

"Yup. Well, recruit is maybe stretching things a bit. They grab people pa.s.sing through and make them fight for their lives."

But that's barbaric, Chase wanted to protest, but knew it would do no good. "And we fight other people?" he asked.

Bowie laughed. "No. You fight the Knights of the Living Dead. You know, the changed people. Brutus figures people from outta town brought them down on us; they should be the ones to do the fighting."

Chase cringed. Knights of the Living Dead. Others. The crazy people of this town wanted him to fight Others in a ring. With screaming fans watching. Stellar.

How had he gotten himself into this mess? More importantly, how was he going to get himself out?

"Have you fought?" he asked Bowie.

"Sure," his new companion said. "I've been in the ring three times now. Kicked those Others from here to kingdom come." He grinned. "If I win five more fights I get my freedom. I get to be one of the people who live here. Course, I gotta kick this broken leg first." He motioned to his cast. "d.a.m.n Other cracked it last time before I knocked his head off his shoulders with my axe. It was a pretty crazy fight."

Chase closed his eyes. Crazy? That's exactly what he'd call it. And a few other things.

He wondered if Peyton would come looking for him, then felt another wash of shame. She was weakened; he was supposed to be the one protecting her. Now he'd screwed everything up again. He'd inadvertently broken his promise to his brother. After all, he couldn't very well care for the children if he was clawed to death by an Other in a gladiator ring.

A rattling noise made him open his eyes. He looked up to see a tall man dressed in a tuxedo and top hat tapping on the bars with a cane. "Hey, new boy," the man growled. "Let's see how well you do in The Thunderdome."

Peyton headed cautiously down the exit ramp, scanning the scene as she went. So far, no sign of life. Not any animals. Not any humans. Nothing. A completely dead town. So where was Chase? How far could he have gone? What if he'd been dragged off to some Other enclave, never to be seen again?

She shook her head, trying to clear it of morbid thoughts. They weren't productive, for one thing. Better to stay positive. To believe he was still alive.

She hadn't originally wanted to bring him along, but now she couldn't imagine the journey without him. And it would be a lie to say it was just his cooking or the way he was able to effortlessly deal with the kids. It was his quiet company that she appreciated. His smile. His eyes. His occasional laugh. Like it or not, she'd grown more attached to him than ever. She didn't want to lose him again.

She sent up a prayer, begging whatever higher power was listening to keep him safe, then did another scan of the surrounding area, trying to find some sign of life. Even with her implants, nothing. Nada.

Peyton wandered street after street, searching, seeking, but always coming up empty. It was as if Chase walked into the Bermuda Triangle, vanished, never to be heard from again. Discouragement crept into her, and she wondered what she should do. She didn't want to go back alone, admit defeat and tell the kids that one more person they loved and depended on was likely gone for good. So she kept looking. And looking.

"Psst!"

Peyton whirled around, her cyber defenses activating automatically. The razors shot from her fingers and nanos pumped hardcore adrenaline into her veins. She scanned the street. A small girl with stringy blond dreadlocks, eyes circled by black and bruises up and down her arms had appeared out of nowhere, holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender. Peyton lowered her razors. A human! And a girl! Maybe she could help.

"I'm looking for someone-" she said, but the girl put a finger to her lips and gestured for Peyton to follow. Curious, Peyton nodded once and did as requested.

Down a dark alleyway, through an empty building, up a hill. The girl paused in front of a small stone church and beckoned once again to Peyton, then slipped inside. Peyton hesitated. Should she go in after her? What if this was some sort of trap? But this girl was the first person she'd seen in this G.o.dforsaken town and thus her only prayer for finding Chase. So she sucked in a breath and stepped into the church sanctuary.

It was dark inside. Deserted. Spooky. Dust-caked pews, standing empty, led to an equally dusty altar. Obviously the place hadn't been used for years-likely not since the fear-filled church parishioners made their last useless requests for divine intervention against the Super Flu.

The blonde was already at the front of the church, pulling aside a red velvet, moth-eaten curtain. Once again, she beckoned before slipping beyond.

This time Peyton hesitated. "Stop," she called out. "I've followed you far enough. Talk to me."

The girl came back and frowned at Peyton. "You want to know about your friend or what?" she asked, crossing her bruised arms over her chest.

Peyton's shoulders sagged, realizing she was utterly at this stranger's mercy. "Yes," she said quietly, lowering her hands to her sides. But the razor blades slipped back out from under her nails. Just in case.

The blond girl disappeared again behind the curtain. Peyton followed, pushing aside the red velvet and stepping into the darkness. She adjusted her night-vision, blinking twice to adjust the brightness. They'd entered a small back chamber, maybe once the domain of priests waiting to say ma.s.s. It was packed floor to ceiling with relics and ornate crosses adorned nearly every inch of free s.p.a.ce.

The girl was there. And she was brandishing a knife.

Peyton didn't hesitate. She roundhouse-kicked, striking the girl's arm. The effort to do so made her almost pa.s.s out. Her attacker bellowed in pain but kept her grip, slashing out at Peyton with the knife. It sliced through the leather on Peyton's left shoulder.

Gritting her teeth, Peyton leaned forward and head-b.u.t.ted the girl. The force of the blow sent the blonde flying backward into a pile of crucifixes. If she had been a vampire, she would have been a goner for sure. But, mortal, she rallied, leaping back to her feet, and her knife slashed through the air again.

This time Peyton was ready. Summoning what was left of her nano-accelerated reaction time, she was able to grab the girl's wrist and yank her around, pinning her arm against her back. The girl cried out but kept a death grip on her knife. So with her other hand, Peyton reached out and grabbed a fistful of long blond dreadlocks, pulling backward. The girl finally dropped her knife and it clattered to the floor. Peyton pushed her forward and grabbed the knife as the girl crashed face first into the wall.

"I thought you wanted to know about your friend," the girl said sulkily as Peyton stood above her.

"I do. And yet you see fit to try to lure me into a dark room and try to kill me."

"Only after you attacked me."

"Then why the knife?"

"Uh." The girl rubbed her head. "'Cause I don't know you from Adam and I needed protection? It's dangerous out here nowadays, in case you hadn't realized. And I'm risking my life even talking to you."

Oh. Right. Peyton hadn't thought of that. She swallowed her embarra.s.sment and offered the girl a hand up. The blonde took it, brushed off her filthy pants and muttered, "Thanks." Then, walking over to the wall, she pulled out a book of matches and used one to light a candle.

"So, why did you bring me here?" Peyton asked.

"It's one of the few safe places in town," the girl explained. "One of the few empty places. Pretty much everyone here is p.i.s.sed at G.o.d for the whole plague thing, so they avoid it like... well, you know." She gestured around. "It's become my home away from home. When I need to... escape for a bit."

Peyton studied the girl some more, again noting the black and blue marks on her arms. They'd just fought, sure, but some of those bruises didn't look fresh. She wondered what exactly this girl needed to escape from. In the current world, there were a million possibilities.

"I'm Peyton," she said, deciding to make the first overture toward friendship.

"Helga." The girl put out a bony hand and they shook. It seemed weird to recreate old world formalities, but kind of nice at the same time. "You're with that Chase guy, right?"

Peyton felt a surge of hope. So the girl had been telling the truth. "You've met Chase?" she asked. "You know where he is?"

Helga nodded slowly, in a way that made Peyton think wherever Chase was, it wasn't exactly good. "There's a new group running this town," she started to explain. "They rose up after most everyone died in the plague. There's a council and a sort of police department to enforce the new laws. It's good in some ways. They make sure everyone in town has enough to eat and a place to sleep. They hold regular patrols to keep the Knights of the Living Dead at bay." She paused, then added, "You know. The zombies. I think your boyfriend called them the Others."

Peyton started to correct her on the boyfriend part but decided it wasn't worth it. "Right," she said, wondering what any of this had to do with Chase. Was he okay or wasn't he?

"Anyway, another thing they do is hold pit fights. Kind of like they did in the old days with slaves."

"You mean like gladiators?" Peyton asked, thinking back to her dad's beloved movie collection.

"Yeah, that's the word," Helga agreed. "Anyway, they hold them in the old sports arena at the edge of town. Basically they put one human and one Knight of the Living Dead in the ring and they fight." She paused, then added, "To the death, of course."

Peyton was beginning to get the picture, and it wasn't pretty. "So, let me guess. You have plenty of Others-Knights-but not a lot of human volunteers."

Helga nodded. "Right. So, the government gives bonus food and protection to those who can bring in new fighters. My boyfriend works as one of these 'recruiters.' He's a real b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but he's great at his job. He talks people pa.s.sing through into coming home with him and then drugs their drinks. Then he turns them in to the council."

Something about this didn't make much sense to Peyton. "But why would Chase go home with him?" she asked. "He knew we were waiting."

"Well, Luke always promises something. He's a master at figuring out what people need, and let's face it, people are needy these days."

"And so Chase was looking for food for...?"

Helga rolled her eyes. "No. Drugs, of course. They're one of Luke's specialties."