Tomorrow Land Part 18

Peyton's insides tightened, and for a moment she thought she was going to throw up. She should have known. Of course Chase couldn't have just given up the drugs cold turkey; it didn't work like that. They should have stopped, given him time to properly detox, to clean out his system and give him a chance to start anew. But she'd been in such a hurry, feeling her body break down a little more each day. And she had to get down to her father to complete her mission. So she'd allowed herself to believe what he said, that it was no big deal, that he wouldn't let her down again. Addicts were excellent at lying to everyone-especially themselves. She knew that all too well from her mother.

She gritted her teeth, pain and disappointment washing over her. Half of her wanted to strangle him for letting them down once again. To say he deserved to get his face chomped off by a zombie for breaking his promise. But the other half still ached for the boy she knew he had once been-the boy she knew was still there, trapped in the death grip of addiction. He didn't do this to hurt her, she tried to remind herself. He was sick. Just like her mom had been. And he needed her help. She'd not been able to help her mother. But maybe she could still help him.

"Can you take me to him?" she asked the blonde.

Helga considered it. "On one condition," she said.

"Which is?"

"You take me with you."

"Take you with me? To rescue Chase?"

"I mean afterward. You two must be going somewhere, right? You have a destination in mind," Helga said, looking desperate.

"Yes, but..." What would Peyton say-that there was no room in the inn, that she didn't need any more baggage than she already had?

The girl held out her arms, and Peyton saw again all the bruises. "I can't stay here any more," she said. "It's already bad, and if Luke finds out I helped you, he'll kill me."

Peyton's heart went out to the girl. It was a horrible world they lived in, and the good people had to help each other out. "Okay," she agreed. "You help me get Chase back and you can come with us."

The girl breathed a sigh of relief, grinned, and Peyton noticed she was missing half a front tooth. "Thank you so much!" she said. "You won't be sorry!"

And as she pushed back the curtain, grabbed her knife and went skipping down the church's main aisle, Peyton really hoped she was right.

Chapter Twenty-nine.

When Peyton got to her locker the next morning, she saw someone had crammed a note into the vents. She yanked it free and smoothed it out, studying the words with a skeptical eye. A group of kids were evidently planning a party. And not just any party: an outdoor, end-of-the-world rave. At first she was annoyed to think that people would make light of what was going on. After all, people were dying. It seemed so disrespectful.

She thought about crumpling the paper up and tossing it in the recycle bin. But then she had a second thought. People were scared. Stressed. Panicked. Maybe this was an opportunity to relieve some of that. Celebrate what life they had left. And maybe she'd get some more info on what the h.e.l.l was going on with the world-seeing as they had all been forbidden to talk about the Super Flu at school.

Not to mention, she'd get to hang out with Chris.

Ever since last week, when they'd first kissed on his bas.e.m.e.nt couch, the two of them had been practically inseparable. They'd been eating lunch together, meeting at their lockers for between-cla.s.s smooches and hanging out after school. But it wasn't all about young love. They'd been developing a plan, an escape for friends in case things got really bad. They'd recruited Chris's brother Trey and some other kids from school, stealing and stockpiling supplies and non-perishable food in an abandoned storage facility just outside of town. Packing suitcases full of clothes and toiletries. They idea was simple: be ready to go at a moment's notice. Head up to the mountains and hide there until things got better.

Because, as Chris kept saying, things could only get worse. The more people that were sick and dying, the less food and necessities would be distributed. And a decrease in necessary goods would mean an increase of violence. Pretty soon the town would be under martial law, he said, and it would be unsafe to walk the streets. Much better that they avoid such a powder keg. Wait 'til it all blows over, he said. Up in the mountains they could grow their own food and hunt deer and trap rabbits. They'd live like kings, Chris said. It had sounded a lot like her father's plan, although she'd be with friends. She liked that idea.

And so they'd planned. And they'd been remarkably efficient at realizing their plans. And Peyton ignored the niggling at the back of her head that reminded her she might have to choose between people she loved.

The bell rang. Peyton tucked the flyer into her pocket and headed to cla.s.s. This wasn't yet a done deal, she reminded herself. The government could still find a cure. The world could still recover, and this End of the World rave would just be another lame high school theme party. She prayed that was the case. What else was there to do?

"This must be the place!" Peyton said, pointing to the colored lights bursting from the woods. She grabbed Chris's hand. "Come on!"

"Are you sure you want to go to this?" he asked for the hundredth time.

"Yes," she said firmly. "It's a good thing, and I want to support it. There's been far too much anger and sadness lately. This'll be a night off. Who can't use a night off?" She turned and stared into his eyes, his molten, kaleidoscopic green eyes.

He squeezed her hand. "Okay then. Let's go party."

They headed into the clearing. The place was packed with kids from their high school all dancing around a large bonfire. There was a tent set up in one corner, and a DJ was spinning a hard techno beat on a portable synthesizer. "Nurses" walked around with test tubes filled with "Super Flu Cures"-which, upon closer examination, contained high-octane alcohol. Peyton hadn't ever had alcohol, but it seemed like this was as good a time as any to start. She grabbed two tubes for herself and two for Chris, and she downed hers quickly, feeling her mouth burn and her insides warm. Chris didn't seem to want his drinks, and he laid them on a nearby table. She pulled him onto the makeshift dance floor. He was glancing around, looking a little overwhelmed. She wondered how many parties he'd been to.

Peyton let out a small whoop, feeling gleeful and mindless. Tonight was exactly what she needed. Time to enjoy the fact that she was alive, time to not worry about what was to come. Dancing, sweating, laughing with friends, making out with Chris. It didn't seem right that a fifteen-year-old had to deal with plague, death, Armageddon-and what could she do, anyway? Here she didn't have to think. It was Heaven.

"Come on, Chris! Dance!" she begged, grabbing him by the hands. He laughed and twirled her around.

"I suck at it!" he yelled over the music.

"I don't care!"

A few more songs, a few more tubes of "cure," and Peyton was suddenly feeling really, really good. She looked over at Chris. His face was flushed. "Come on," she cried. "Let's sit for a moment."

She pulled him away from the bonfire to a spot where some makeshift tables had been set up, covered with brightly colored tablecloths. On impulse, she got down on her knees and crawled under the table, pulling Chris behind her.

"It's like a secret fort," she informed him proudly. "No one can find us here."

He laughed. "Cool," he said; then he kissed her.

She sighed against his mouth. This was the perfect night. Good music, great boyfriend, time away from- Above the music, someone screamed. Chris and Peyton broke from their kiss, stared at one another. Peyton c.o.c.ked her head to one side. "Should we...?" she asked.

Chris shook his head. "Probably just some drunk girl saw a snake or something. No need to panic." He leaned forward to kiss her again.

He was stopped by another scream. Then another. And another.

Peyton stared at Chris, terrified. She made a move to leave, but he grabbed her shoulder. "No," he whispered. "Stay here."

He peeked out from beneath the tablecloth. The music had ceased but the screams continued. Peyton waited, her heart beating wildly in her chest. What the h.e.l.l was wrong?

"Are the cops here?" she asked, almost hopefully. "Are they breaking up the party?" She crossed her fingers for something normal, even if she'd be in serious trouble with her dad, who thought she was studying up in her room.

Chris drew his head back under the table. Even in the darkness Peyton could tell he was white as a sheet.

"What-?"

He clamped his hand over her mouth and shook his head. Wide-eyed, she stopped talking. The screams, however, continued. They were louder, and there was the sound of people rushing around.

Then she heard something else. Something familiar. And then she remembered the trash compactor behind the hospital.

She stared at Chris, desperate questions in her eyes. He nodded grimly. The sounds she heard were groans and grunts similar to the monster at the hospital, the monster her father had told her didn't exist. What the h.e.l.l was going on here?

She could barely breathe, she was so scared. Her whole body was trembling. Chris grabbed her and held tight, squeezing her so hard it hurt. Still, she pressed closer, wishing she could literally crawl inside of him and hide from the horror beyond their thin tablecloth shield.

The screams continued for what seemed hours but was probably only a few minutes. The dancing teenagers had scattered. At last there was silence. Deadly, horrible silence. Peyton looked at Chris questioningly. He let go of her and peeked out from under the table. After a moment he leaned back inside and nodded.

"Coast is clear," he whispered. "Let's get the fleck out of here."

Gingerly, they crawled out from under the table. Peyton a.s.sessed the scene before them. Carnage. Utter carnage. Tables were turned. Tents shredded. It looked like a scene from a monster movie. It was a scene from a monster movie.

Her eyes then fell upon the bodies, bloodied and broken and strewn around the clearing. There were a number of dead: her cla.s.smates-some whom she'd known since kindergarten-torn and bitten almost beyond recognition.

Peyton's stomach heaved and she bent over and lost her lunch. Chris grabbed her, holding on tight. It was a good thing he did; she felt like she was going to pa.s.s out then and there. Which would be bad, she supposed, seeing as they were still at ground zero of the attack.

"Come on," Chris whispered, pulling at her arm. "We have to get out of here."

She didn't need a second invitation.

Chapter Thirty.

The room was dark, the walls grime-colored, and the overwhelmingly thick odor of excrement filled the air. A group had dragged Chase in here a few moments ago, ripped off his shirt and chained him to the wall with thick metal cuffs that dug into his wrists and ankles until they drew blood. In the distance he could hear the roar of a crowd, presumably cheering for his imminent demise.

He should be preparing. Mentally, if nothing else. Psyching himself up to fight an Other. He'd done it before. He could do it again. Maybe. Possibly. Or not. But whether or not his odds were good, he should be strategizing, going over their known weaknesses, his own strengths, remembering past encounters and a.n.a.lyzing them like a quarterback before a Superbowl.

But all he could think of was Peyton.

What was she doing right now? Waiting for him to come back? Comforting the children and promising them that for sure he would return at any second? How long would she wait? How long would she hold out hope? Maybe hope was too strong a word. After all, he was nothing to her. A pain. A burden. Something slowing her down. She could have been ten times as far along if it weren't for him.

And now, because of him, Peyton might not make it to Disney in time for her tech to be salvaged. The kids wouldn't have anyone to take care of them, and they would soon be nothing more than monster bait. In the end they'd all be dead. Darla, Sunshine, Red, the triplets, Starry and Torn.

And Peyton. Beautiful, determined, amazing Peyton.

He yanked against his bonds, only succeeding in drawing more blood. His wrists were raw, crimson bands of pain. Not exactly the best for fighting. Worse, he still craved drugs. His body burned for them, and the tickling in his stomach was a raging, all-out itch. It was like ants were crawling up and down his skin. He leaned his head over and threw up, splattering himself and his leather pants.

Well, he deserved to die. To be ripped apart and devoured by a mutated zombie. He deserved for his death to be slow. To feel every rip and tear of flesh, to hear every crunch of bone. If only it could be for a good cause instead of just the natural end to his stupidity. Oh, Peyton, I'm so sorry I let you down even though I promised I never would.

G.o.d, you're pathetic!

He opened his eyes as a voice in his head rebuked him, the words echoing through his skull. It sounded like... Tank?

Be a man for once in your life, his dead brother scolded.

You don't understand, Chase argued. I'm not you. I'm not strong. And right now I'm trapped. There's no way I can escape this.

Not with that att.i.tude you can't. But as far as I can see, you're not dead yet. Which means you still have a chance. So buck up, stop living in your private theater of fear, and do something useful for once in your life.

He swallowed hard and nodded fiercely. Imaginary Tank was right. He wasn't dead. Not yet. Which meant he had a chance. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

A burly man wearing a stained wife-beater tank top and cut-offs, carrying a whip, entered the room. He approached Chase. "You ready, boy?" he asked, then cackled to himself. "This should be a quick fight," he added, eyeing his prisoner up and down. "Pretty boy against our biggest baddie." He grabbed Chase's face in his meaty hands, as a grandma might while her pinching her grandson's cheeks.

Chase spat.

The guard bellowed in rage and struck him. The force of the open-palmed blow against his cheek almost sent Chase swimming into blackness, but he held his own and met the guard's eyes again, giving him his most defiant look. If he was going to go down, it'd be by a zombie, not some random human.

"So we going to fight, or are you just going to give me googly eyes all night?" he said in his c.o.c.kiest voice.

Another slap. It stung, but at the same time the violence was revving Chase up. The pain was spiking his adrenaline, and he was suddenly raring to go.

"Hey, what's taking so long?" another guard asked, stepping into the room.

"Little punk spit in my face," the first man growled.

"Aw, poor baby. Did he get you all wet?" the second guard scoffed. "Toro is getting impatient. Get him out there."

The first guard grunted but did as he was told. He whipped out a filthy rag and used it as a blindfold before unchaining his prisoner. Chase felt his bonds fall away, and a moment later he was pushed forward. He stumbled as best he could toward what he supposed was the main pit of The Thunderdome.

A few moments later the blindfold was ripped from his eyes and he had to blink a few times to adjust to the light. He could hear the crowd roar before he saw them, and at first he believed they were cheering for him. Then his eyes adjusted and he saw the Other. It was the biggest, nastiest Other he'd ever seen. Snarling, drooling and smacking its lips, the creature started toward him.

Chase squared his shoulders. Okay, here went nothing. For Peyton, he said to himself. I'll win this for her.

"Okay, first you need to change," Helga instructed. "They have to think you're one of them, and let's just say that leather suit is not going to cut it."

Peyton looked down at her outfit. As much as she didn't want to waste any more time, Helga was likely right. The leather was practical for her purposes, but it would look out of place in a town full of people pretending things were normal. And she imagined this society didn't get many acceptable visitors.

"Right," she said. "Well, let's grab something quick so we can go."

Helga considered for a moment. "We can't go back to my place," she said. "Luke might be there. We'll hit up one of the stores. A lot of them still have clothing." She scanned the street, then motioned to a place on the corner. "Maybe there's something in there. It's one of my favorites, and not many people know it."

They crossed the street and entered what was once a boutique, stepping through the broken gla.s.s door. Peyton adjusted her lenses to compensate for the dark and looked around. For "not many people knowing it," the place was pretty ransacked, clothes ripped from racks and strewn everywhere. The jewelry counter was smashed and most of its contents were long gone.

"The Society is pretty intense when it comes to clothes," Helga explained. "So a lot of the good stuff is probably taken. But I'm sure we can find..." She reached down to the ground and pulled up a slinky, bright purple halter-top dress. "What size are you?"

Peyton shrugged. "Four?" she said. "G.o.d, it's been a billion years since I went shopping."

Helga nodded. "Try this then." She handed the dress to Peyton and gestured to a dressing room. "Don't worry, we have plenty of time. They train them before they make them fight. He's just a prisoner. In no danger for a few days at least."

"Okay," Peyton said, feeling a little relieved. She still didn't like to think of him jailed, but if he wasn't in any immediate danger, it'd be better to take this slowly and surely. Not make any stupid mistakes.

She stepped into the tiny room behind the torn curtain that once served as a dressing room for the boutique and slipped off her leather pants and shirt, praying this wasn't another trap. How did she know Helga wasn't just like her boyfriend: a scout, looking for new recruits? But then she reminded herself of Helga's desperate eyes and bruised body. No, the girl really needed an escape from Paradise, and Peyton was likely the only one who could provide it.

Still, she kept one ear c.o.c.ked as she slid into the dress. It felt creamy smooth, soft and cool against her skin. It would have once cost a fortune. She hadn't worn something so elegant in... well, maybe forever. After all, it wasn't like she'd gotten to go to prom. She pulled the straps behind her neck and tied them in a bow, then examined herself in the mirror. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at her reflection. She looked good. Really good. Feminine. Even taking into account her ocular implants. The dress clung to her every curve, and it scooped low in front to show off her cleavage. She looked like something out of an old Hollywood movie-and not a zombie one, either.