Tomorrow Land Part 19

Her first thought was: Wow, wait until Chase sees me in this. Her second thought was how silly she was being, how vain, caring about something so shallow and irrelevant. Who cared what Chase thought about how she looked in a dress? But Peyton cared, whether she wanted to or not.

Stepping out of the dressing room, she realized Helga had also changed clothes-into a little black-sequined number, long sleeves effectively hiding her bruises. She'd pulled her dreadlocks back into a ponytail and dabbed on a little lip gloss. She actually looked very pretty. She was packing things into a big bag, and she took Peyton's leather clothes without looking and stuffed them inside, too.

When she turned to look at Peyton, she whistled. "Wow. You look great."

Peyton felt her face heat and tried to laugh it off. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," she said.

"I'm serious. You should make sure to take that dress with you and wear it afterward. I bet your boyfriend would love it."

Peyton finally decided to correct her. "Oh, he's not my boyfriend. He's just a friend."

"Ah," Helga said. But it didn't seem like she was buying it.

Once their outfits were complete, they headed out of the store and back onto the street. Helga took Peyton to a scooter and instructed she get on the back. Soon they were flying down the road, the bike's front headlight illuminating the way. Over the roar of the wind, Helga explained that one of the benefits of being a member of this society was a minimum ration of energy each month. Much of it was gasoline siphoned from stations in a fifty-mile radius and brought back to Paradise in barrels. Most people used their rations to fill scooters like this.

Peyton nodded, barely listening. Her mind was focused on Chase. Even though she knew he wasn't in immediate danger, she didn't like the idea of him being trapped, especially when he had no idea the cavalry was on its way.

"So, what's the plan?" she asked Helga over the roar of the bike. "I mean, they aren't going to let us just waltz in there and let him out, right?"

Helga laughed. "Well, sort of," she said. "I know one of the guards. And I have some of Luke's stuff. Some of his good stuff."

"This guard wants drugs? Won't he get in trouble?"

"With the stuff I'll give him, he won't care."

Once again, Peyton was grateful she'd run into Helga. "Thanks," she said. "I really owe you for this."

"It's fine. Just get me far away from this place and we're square."

They turned another corner, entering a parking lot near the stadium Peyton had seen from the interstate. Helga pulled the scooter into a spot and killed the engine. They got off the bike and she motioned to a police station across the way. "That's the place," she explained. "Come on, let's go."

The station was run down but clean, evidently having been given a good recent spit and polish, in contrast with the thick layers of dust they'd encountered in other parts of the town. There were working lights, although they looked like they ran on a backup generator. Peyton a.s.sumed most of the population of this society lived on the other side of the stadium.

It was an odd feeling to step inside a place and feel like it was lived in. Peyton adjusted her implants for the indoor lighting and scanned the room. A burly man dressed in a uniform sat behind a small desk, picking his fingernails with a knife. Peyton sized him up, wanting to have some sort of contingency plan if Helga's connections-and currency-weren't as good as she claimed. He was big, she a.s.sessed, but meaty rather than muscled. She would likely be okay, push come to shove, as long as he didn't have some big gun hidden under the counter. And her enhancements didn't go haywire again...

Helga sidled up to the desk and sat on it, hiking up her skirt and batting her eyelashes. Total silliness, Peyton thought at first, then realized that in a small post-apocalyptic society like Paradise, the ratio of pretty girls to desperate men was probably pretty high. Sure enough, the guard reacted instantly, his beefy face turning tomato red. He rose to his feet and walked around the desk.

"Hey, baby," he said, reaching over to hug Helga. Peyton watched the blonde slide her body up against him. In another world, she could have been a stripper. Maybe she once was; who knew? "Where you been all my life?"

"Aw, Huggie, don't be saying that!" Helga cooed. "You know you haven't given me a second thought since I left."

Huggie looked offended. "Are you kidding?" he said, sounding incredulous. "I've thought of nothing but you for two weeks, when you last you waltzed your pretty little b.u.t.t in here." He smacked her lightly on the aforementioned body part and she giggled, stretching up to kiss his bald forehead.

"You're so sweet," she purred. "I thought of you, too, Huggie Bear. I thought about you a lot."

"So, who's your friend?" Huggie asked, giving Peyton the once-over. She could tell he wasn't as impressed with her as with Helga. Guess he didn't like the look of her cybernetic implants. She supposed that was probably for the best, though she didn't like the reminder that even in a pretty dress, she was still a freak.

"Oh, this is Peyton," Helga said. "She's my dear friend, and we're hoping you'll be able to do us a huge, huge favor."

"Anything for a friend of yours, baby," Huggie rea.s.sured her, putting his hand on her waist. "Name it."

Helga gave a tiny grin, and hope rose inside Peyton. Who would have expected this rescue to be this easy? She'd figured there'd be a fight, at the very least. Maybe a dangerous escape. But no; it seemed like it was just a matter of making a deal. She'd have Chase back, good as new.

"You guys have a new pit fighter," Helga said. "Luke picked him up last night. His name's Chase."

Huggie nodded. "Yeah. He's sharing a cell with Bowie. Did you see the Bowster last week? That was some stellar fight. I gotta say, he's a killer. From now on, when he's back in the ring, I'm putting my money on him every time."

"Oh yeah, baby, he's amazing," Helga crooned. "But Chase. We're talking about Chase. We're hoping we can make a little deal for him. I brought you some real good stuff-" She started to reach into her purse.

"Sorry, no can do," Huggie said, stopping her.

She frowned, glossy lips puffed out in a pout. "Why not?" she asked. "I thought you said you'd do us a favor, Huggie Bear."

"Baby, you know I'd do anything for you," Huggie a.s.sured her, clucking her under the chin. "But the guy's not here. They took him to the 'dome."

"What?" Peyton cried, unable to stop herself. "I thought you said they'd train him first!" Fear pounded in her heart as she digested what was happening. Chase had been thrown into a ring and was being forced to fight a zombie while they'd wasted time trying on clothes?

Huggie shrugged. "Their scheduled fighter, Rumble, went and offed himself last night, so they needed a last-minute replacement. Guess Rumble didn't think too much of his odds and wanted to take the easy way out." He laughed.

"What time's the fight?" Helga asked, her face also white.

"Probably about now. If you hurry, you might catch it. Though it's bound to be quick. I heard the odds are like one-thousand-to-one on the new guy. They're putting him in with Toro, after all."

Peyton and Helga were out the door in a heartbeat. "Come on!" Helga said. "We'll get in the back door."

They turned right from the station, went down an alley and came to a dead end with a battered wooden door. Helga pushed it open and they entered a large smoky kitchen where cooks were preparing some sort of meal. Peyton didn't even have much time to marvel at all the people still alive; she raced after Helga, ignoring the protests, down a hall, then up several flights of stairs. After one last door, she and Helga were suddenly in the Thunderdome.

Peyton drew in a breath as she looked around. They were at the top of the stadium complex. But whereas many years ago this would have been full of screaming, sport-jersey-wearing fans, it was now populated by well-heeled matrons and gentlemen-Society members, Peyton guessed, resplendent in ball gowns, tuxedos, and with jewels dripping from their arms, necks and fingers. There were probably a hundred of them, scattered through the stadium. More people than Peyton had seen in four years.

It was as if she'd stepped into another world. One where things were still working. Where people were civilized.

Except there was nothing civilized about what was going on here at the Thunderdome: the cheering and wooting and staring down into a pit that had once been an innocent basketball court. Peyton followed the crowd's gaze to the center of the action. The first thing she saw was the biggest Other she'd ever seen. The second was Chase.

Without thinking or processing, only knowing she had to save him, she bolted down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She'd jump the railing, kill the Other, rescue Chase.

"No!" Helga cried, running after her and grabbing her arm. "You can't go down there," she hissed.

Peyton whirled to face her. No one was going to stop her from this. "Why not?" she demanded.

"Don't you see all the guards?" Helga pointed to the sidelines. "They all have guns. They'll shoot you in a heartbeat if you try to jump in."

Peyton released a frustrated breath. She didn't think she could take on the Other, the guards and the whole society; there was a limit to even what she could handle, especially in her currently weakened state. "This is one flecked up place," she muttered. "What do you propose we do?"

"Pray?"

"Not funny."

"Look, it's not impossible for your friend to win," Helga said kindly, though her eyes told a different story. "I've seen humans beat Knights before. Like Huggie said, Bowie did last week. It's not all about brute strength. The Knights are mean, but they're not exactly the brightest bulbs in the shed... or whatever that saying is."

Peyton stared at the girl, unbelieving. This was what they were going to pin all their hopes on: that Chase was smarter than the Other? What about the zombie's razor-sharp claws, bulging muscles, and appet.i.te for human flesh? Chase didn't stand a chance against the monster. And what if he got bitten?

She stared into the ring, watching as Chase approached the Other. Feeling so d.a.m.n helpless. So close, yet so far. And Chase, well...

She tried to focus on positives, because while all her instincts told her she should dare the guards and leap frantically into the pit, she was also slightly more of a realist. If both she and Chase died, which likely they would, who would take care of the children?

Besides, she reminded herself. Chase wasn't weak. He'd survived four years amongst the Others. He'd taken on twelve that day on the road. Just because he was human and unenhanced didn't mean he was a goner. Helga was right; Chase was smart and zombies were dumb. Chase had asked her to trust him, to have faith in him. To stop seeing him as weak. Well, now was her chance to do just that.

She had to let him fight. She had to believe he could win.

"You can do it, Chase!" she cried at the top of her lungs from the side of the ring, waving a fist in the air. "I believe in you!"

And, she suddenly realized, she really did.

Chase's legs trembled as he watched the Other approach, slowly, deliberately, as they tended to do, taking one shuffling step and then another. It was the biggest zombie Chase had ever come across, and he wondered what it'd been eating. Probably people just like him, which wasn't exactly the most comforting thought.

"Tonight is a special night for you all," came a man's voice over a loudspeaker. "Our undefeated Knight Champion, Toro, will take on our brand-new gladiator, Chase."

Cheers for Toro. Jeers for Chase. Evidently this guy was a crowd favorite. Jeez, weren't humans supposed to be rooting for their own? Evidently not when money was on the line.

Despite his boasts to Peyton, truth be told, Chase had killed very few Others. Well, not by himself. He'd preferred the live and let live approach, and failing that, the "run lest you be eaten" one. But here he was surrounded by guards and bars, and there was nowhere for him to go. And as well-fed as the Other in front of him had to be in order to have obtained his current size, the drool at the corner of his mouth suggested he was still hungry.

Chase swallowed hard, trying to resign himself to his fate. This was it. This was how it was going to end. And it was his fault. He'd been a fool, and now he'd pay with his life. But it wasn't his death that bothered him most. Again, it was that he'd failed the people he cared about. There was a time when he'd been a different person, a person to depend on.

No! He remembered the oath he'd just made to his brother's ghost, remembered the adrenaline that had recently seemed to ooze out of him. Thinking about the duties in which he'd failed, something inside of him, some lost bit of courage, rallied. He'd promised Tank that he'd take care of those children. He'd promised Peyton he'd get her to Disney World. And he'd be d.a.m.ned if some sick game made up by insane people was going to stop him from following through.

He gripped the small knife they'd given him-a pathetic weapon against the monster in the ring, but the only one he had-and racked his brain for a strategy. He couldn't best the Other in hand-to-hand combat; it had too much physical strength for that. But there had to be alternative ways of winning. He'd think of them.

He knew from experience that Others usually had poor eyesight and depended on movement to attract their attention. Picking up a rock, he threw it and struck the Other in the face. It recoiled, surprised, and closed its eyes with a roar. Chase used that moment to drop to the ground and freeze. He hoped staying still might confuse the beast, might buy him some time.

Sure enough, he soon heard rumblings from the crowd. The Other was sniffing the air, looking confused, wondering where his prey had gone. A few angry shouts of "He's right in front of you, bungler!" fell on the zombie's uncomprehending ears. Thank G.o.d.

As the creature stood still, squinting, Chase was better able to a.n.a.lyze him, to size up potential weak spots. The creature wore leather armor over his chest and legs-these people had armored their zombies?-eliminating possible stab points. But his feet were bare and exposed. That was something at least.

The time he'd bought was up. The creature, clearly eager to fill its belly, was moving forward, sniffing. From his position on the ground, Chase waited until the last possible moment, then lunged forward, rolling and stabbing it in the foot, managing to chop off a toe or two. The zombie bellowed in rage and staggered, losing its balance. Chase leapt to his feet and kicked the beast's chest, attempting to send Toro to the ground.

It very nearly worked. For a moment the Other tottered, and Chase thought maybe he'd gained an advantage. But then Toro recovered his balance and raged at him, arms outstretched. Chase had leapt backward one second too late. The Other caught him by the neck, wrapping filthy fingers around his throat and squeezing. Chase could feel his eyes bulge out of his head.

As his air supply diminished, Chase fought the instinct to drop his knife and try to pry the hands off his neck, and instead he stabbed at the Other's chest, also making sure the creature kept its mouth away from him. His small blade was no match for the tough leather armor, however, and the knife bounced uselessly off. Chase knew he had mere seconds before he would pa.s.s out. And he'd used up all his tricks. Was this it? Was he about to be eaten, about to die for others'-and Others'-sport? It seemed so wrong: To die like this, alone, jeered at by strangers. Never to be seen again by his friends and the people he'd failed.

"Chase! Don't give up, Chase! I know you can do it!"

That voice caused him to perk up. It was Peyton! He strained to look into the audience, to see if she was somehow actually there or if this was just an auditory hallucination. His eyes fell upon her, draped oddly in some sort of silk eveningwear. He was going crazy. But even so, the vision of her loveliness gave him strength for one more try.

He slammed his boot down on the zombie's bare foot, aiming for the severed toes. The zombie screamed in pain and loosened its grip just for a millisecond-but that millisecond was all Chase needed. He swung viciously and knocked the zombie's hands away, then followed up with a kick to the groin. The Other stumbled backward again.

This time, Chase didn't wait to see if his opponent would fall. He charged, throwing his full weight forward, tackling the beast where it stood and slamming it to the ground. He grabbed the creature's collar and pulled that back with as much strength as he could muster, exposing its bare neck. Then he jammed his knife deep into the throat. A fountain of blood spewed from the wound, and he rolled over quickly to avoid it. He jumped to his feet, still clutching his knife, put his boot on the creature's neck, and stepped. The zombie gurgled at him and died.

The crowd went insane. A fickle group; apparently he was their new hero. But he ignored them. He locked eyes with Peyton, begging her forgiveness. She raised her hand in a salute of respect.

He knew then and there he would never be weak again.

Chapter Thirty-one.

Chris and Peyton raced down the forest path, as fast they could, back toward town. Tears blinded Peyton's vision as she ran, and her heart pounded. The plague had been bad enough, but now there were some kind of monsters on top of it? And her dad had lied to her-either that, or he'd been misled or mistaken. But what was going on? Was it really somehow the End of Days in a biblical sense? If so, what hope could there be for any of them?

Through it all, Chris gripped her hand, a silent promise of solidarity. At least she wasn't facing this alone. And at that moment she loved him more than ever. If the world was going to end, at least she had him by her side. She'd keep him there forever.

Suddenly something staggered from the trees, blocking their path. Peyton screamed, startled. Chris yanked her back a few steps, putting distance between them and the creature. Because, sure enough, it was the vision of her nightmares: a yellowed, zombie-like mutation with pus-filled sores and no hair. It had blood all over its mouth and was clearly one of the things that had struck back at the rave.

The monster growled at them, arms outstretched, and it stepped slowly forward on wobbly legs, as if it wasn't quite sure how to use them yet. Peyton stared, trying to decide if she was really seeing what she thought she was. Or maybe it was all the "cure" she'd drunk. Because while this definitely looked like the creature in the hospital dumpster they'd come across weeks before, it also seemed weirdly familiar.

"Chris," Peyton whispered, then trailed off, not knowing how to explain.

He glanced over at her and then back. His mouth dropped open. "Oh my G.o.d," he said. "Does this thing look familiar to you?"

Peyton nodded, squinting at the creature. There was definitely something. It had no hair, and its eyes were blackened and unfocused, but beneath the tattered clothes and yellowed skin there was something strangely familiar.

Her heart stopped. No. It couldn't be. Could it?

"Avery?" she whispered, hardly believing what was coming from her own mouth. "Is that you?"

The creature growled and stepped forward. But whether the growl was in any way an intended response, Peyton didn't need any further affirmation. Her stomach roiled and it took everything in her power not to be sick. The booze burning like fire through her veins wasn't helping.

It was then that she realized Chris had pulled out a handgun. She didn't know where he'd gotten it, as they were super-illegal and hard to find, but she was even more shocked by what he intended.

"No!" she shrieked, grabbing his arm. His shot went wild and the creature took another step, growling. "It's Avery!" she cried. "It's my best friend."

Chris gritted his teeth. "It was Avery, Peyton. Past tense."

"But... look at her! She even still has that birthmark." Peyton was shaking as she pointed at Avery's arm.

The monster lunged, teeth bared and eyes black. Peyton dodged, screamed, and turned, tripping over a root and falling flat on her face. She could hear Avery behind her, jaws snapping. Lunch with a friend? Hadn't she just been wishing she and Avery could have that again? Wishes came true. Peyton squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she was a goner.

A gunshot rang out. Peyton's eardrums ached, and she turned to see Avery stagger backward, a b.l.o.o.d.y hole in her chest. For a brief second she thought she saw clarity come into her friend's eyes, realization on her face. A human horror at a very inhuman end. And then Avery's eyes rolled back into her head, and she collapsed on the forest floor. Chris shot her again.

Peyton scrambled to her feet, screaming. Chris grabbed her and pulled her into a strong embrace, shushing her. "It's okay," he said. "It's dead."

"You don't understand! That was Avery. That was Avery!"