Tomorrow Land Part 4

"No, you won't, will you?" Drew's voice took on a harder edge. "'Cause you're too afraid of your crazy daddy and what he might do if you dared to live a little. You're trapped in a cage, Peyton," he told her. "Living half a life. All because some Armageddon nut-who should be locked up-keeps telling you that the end of the world is near." He shook his head. "Well, let me tell you something: when the end of the world does come, I'm going to have lived my life. How about you? You still going to be waiting around with Daddy?"

Peyton snapped. Her fist found Drew's nose, connecting with an oh-so-satisfying sound of crushing bone, followed by a scream of pain. Her boyfriend's perfect proboscis-the one that his parents had paid, well, through the nose for-was now a shapeless, b.l.o.o.d.y mess.

"Don't talk about my father like that," she said, lowering her bloodied hand. Then she turned and stormed toward the exit, leaving Drew bawling like a baby and shouting for the nurse.

As she left the cafeteria, she fought the urge to spit.

Chapter Eight.

Chase and Peyton wove through an asphalt field of abandoned cars and shopping carts-many still packed with plastic bags of decomposing goods-on their way to the Walmart front entrance. The car windows were mostly broken, and shattered gla.s.s on the pavement caught the failing sunlight, sparkling like a field of scattered diamonds. Peyton fingered her own diamond-the one she'd been carrying around in her pocket since she left the shelter-and wondered if she should show it to Chase. Would he even remember giving it to her? It seemed a lifetime ago.

She withdrew her hand from her pocket and took a look around, shivering at the sight of the barren landscape. Everything was so still, so dead. What had it been like for these people whose rag-clad skeletons now stretched out before her, littering the parking lot? One moment they were blissful, happy-go-lucky Walmart shoppers, ready to enjoy an hour or so of discount commerce; the next they were collapsing where they stood, their lungs seizing up, their hearts failing-and those were the lucky ones. What went through their minds as they fell to the hard, cold pavement? Had they pled for some kind of last-minute divine intervention? At what moment had they resigned themselves to the fact that none would come?

As she stared at a car that looked vaguely familiar-was that the Smart Nissan of one of her teachers?-a lump formed in her throat that she struggled to swallow down. She was supposed to be tough now, after all. Her father had trained her for this: to be strong, to not let overwhelming emotion wash her away. So there were some dead people here. So it went. After all, she was a razor girl. Like Molly Millions. And Molly Millions didn't cry.

She faltered, stumbled. Unable to go on. Her dad would be ashamed.

Suddenly a strong hand found her shoulder, spinning her around. Chase cupped her chin with his other hand, tilting her face upward toward his. His fingers were warm-rough and calloused, but still tender as they firmly directed her eyes to meet his own. In an instant, she found herself lost in a kaleidoscope of color. She drew in breath; how many nights, down in the shelter, had she dreamed of those strange eyes of his? Those vivid greens and yellows and blues, all swirled together. And now, if anything, they seemed even more brilliant in the fading light of day.

"Are you okay?" he asked, actually sounding concerned for the first time since they'd met that day. She realized she was trembling. How embarra.s.sing. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her as weak.

"I'm fine," she retorted, shaking her head to free it from his hand. But he only gripped her chin tighter, tracing a finger along her jawline. That touch sparked an ache deep inside-one she found she couldn't will away. Like everything else in this world.

"Sure you are," he said, giving her an amused smirk. "That's why you're white as a sheet."

She slumped her shoulders and sighed. "Okay, fine. It's... a lot to take in. I admit it."

He dropped his hand and she felt a weird emptiness inside at the loss of his touch. He leaned up against an ancient rusted-out Pryus and stared off into the distance. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to speak.

"When we first got back, after being in the mountains for so long, we couldn't believe it," he said at last. "Up there, removed from it all, it was hard to imagine how bad things had become. I threw up three times when I saw the first bodies." He grimaced. "Real manly, huh?"

"I did, too," she cried eagerly before she could stop herself. Before she could play it cool. Tough. But it felt so good to admit it. To know she wasn't alone. "Outside my house. I saw... a baby." She shuddered.

"You get used to it after a while," he said, still staring off into the distance. He rubbed his chin with his forefinger and thumb. "I know that probably sounds crazy now, but it's true."

She peered around the parking lot. At the death. Decay. Dismemberment. "I can't imagine."

"Of course you won't be expecting it," he continued. "But one day you'll be out and about-hunting food or whatever-and someone will say something. Do something. And it'll strike you as funny." He shook his head. "You'll be standing there, smack dab in the middle of a ma.s.s graveyard, surrounded by cannibalistic zombies, cackling like a loon." He smiled and for a second she thought she saw the old Chris coming out from behind the mask. "It's at that moment you realize that life goes on. It really does."

He turned back to her and their gazes locked. Try as she might, she found she couldn't look away, as if trapped by his eyes. She exhaled, her heart pounding in her chest. Half of her wanted to grab him, right then and there, throw herself into his arms and melt into him, soaking up his strength. Relinquish her control, her strength, her armor, and just be a girl again. A girl who loved a boy.

But she wasn't that girl. And he wasn't that boy. Not anymore. And to succ.u.mb now would only make things harder when she had to say goodbye.

"Life goes on," she repeated instead, desperate to break the spell that had seemed to come between them. "Yeah. Until a zombie makes you his lunch." Her sarcasm sounded harsh, even to her own ears, and she regretted her words the second they left her mouth.

Chase's smile faltered and he dropped his gaze. If she didn't know better she'd say he looked disappointed. But "Yeah, exactly," was all he said as he hopped back off the car. "Now come on. Let's get inside where it's safe before we lose all the light."

He took off and she followed, still a bit shaken. They wove through the parking lot until they reached what had once served as the front of the store. The normal gla.s.s-windowed entrance had been barricaded with large sheets of metal, roughly fused together with a combination of bolts and solder.

"The Others aren't too shy about jumping through gla.s.s windows," Chase explained, all business again as he gestured to the makeshift barriers. "h.e.l.l, it's practically an Olympic sport for them. But they can't see for anything and aren't too smart, so the metal here keeps them out. Tank rigged it up a couple years back, and so far we've managed to keep a low profile. We've killed those who've come around, so... well, we think they a.s.sume the place is abandoned."

He gave a cursory glance around the parking lot, Peyton a.s.sumed checking for zombies, then went to a door cut out of the metal plates. He opened its lock with a key that hung on a silver chain around his neck. Beyond was a smashed-in gla.s.s door.

"Careful," he said as he motioned for Peyton to step inside. "Don't cut yourself. A single scratch could be lethal these days."

She hadn't thought of that. With no physicians, an untreated infection could be as dangerous as a zombie. Stepping through, she took care to avoid any sharp metal edges or gla.s.s shards.

Chase entered, locking the metal door behind them. "Here we are," he said, ushering her forward. "Home sweet home."

The normally bright overhead fluorescent lights were, of course, no longer functioning in the superstore, and the darkness was shocking compared to the daylight outside. Otherwise, in what light there was, coming from a skylight to the northwest, the place seemed much as she remembered it. The shelves nearby were stacked with discounted electronics, yellow bouncy ball signs declaring which products were currently-or four years ago, in this case-on special. A long row of checkouts, manned by silent cash register sentinels, stretched off into the distance. In short, it was a barren wasteland of dust-caked commercialism, a vivid reminder of how the world once was.

Peyton sneezed.

"Maid's day off," Chase quipped, beckoning her to follow. "Come on. I think the gang's in Toys."

"Toys?"

"You'll see." He reached into his bag and pulled out a flashlight, flicking it on. A weak beam did its best to pierce the darkness, but as they walked briskly through the aisles and farther from the skylight, she wondered how Chase could even see. Her own implants compensated, switching to night vision. Thanks, Dad.

At the back of the store a much brighter light appeared, if localized. As Chase promised, they were nearing the Toys section, and a minute later Peyton caught high-pitched giggles accompanied by a loud whirring sound. They turned the corner and came upon a small circle of children all sprawled out on the floor. The light, she realized, came from a couple of lamps powered by a generator that was producing the whirring noise she'd heard.

Peyton took a closer look. Toys she remembered from her childhood were scattered everywhere: beautiful Barbies with long, flowing hair, dashing Ken dolls with their anatomically correct parts. (She and Avery were scandalized to learn they hadn't always been manufactured that way.) These kids had every toy she could think of except the electronic ones, and sim decks, which were likely too expensive to run with limited battery power.

She did a quick count. Eight children, ranging in ages six to fourteen, and about as many nationalities. The oldest two, a girl and boy, were arguing in a corner, while the younger ones contented themselves with play. There was even a set of boy triplets with shocks of carrot-colored hair and matching pug noses. But what seemed strangest of all was their outfits: a total mish-mash of colors and patterns, not a single one of which matched. Even stranger, the kids all wore makeup-even the boys. Or was it war paint? she wondered, because the swirling cheek and forehead designs appeared almost tribal. The whole thing reminded her of a book her dad had once made her read: The Lord of the Flies. Of course, Walmart was no jungle, and these kids had no hope of a rescue plane swooping down anytime soon.

"So they're all orphans?" she asked Chase in wonder. "And you brought them all here?"

A laugh sounded behind Peyton, making her jump. "Chase? He would have let them all be killed if it was up to him."

Peyton whirled around to see a good-looking, barrel-chested man approach. He had long dark hair tied back in a ponytail and a trim beard. He walked up to Chase and Peyton and held out his hand. "I'm Tank," he said. "Chase's brother." He looked her up and down. "I wondered where my little brother had gone. Ran off like an idiot. Now I see why."

"He always thinks the best of me," Chase grunted. "Tank, this is Peyton. Remember the Andersons? From down the street?"

Tank gave her a double take. "Peyton Anderson?" he repeated with a whistle. "d.a.m.n. Aren't you all grown up?"

Peyton felt her face heat under his gaze. "Don't mind him," Chase quickly interjected, giving his brother a dirty look. "He's a bit desperate. Four years without p.o.r.n sims, you know. Or real life girls, for that matter."

"Hey, what about Anna Simmons?" Tank protested. "When we were still at the refugee camp?"

"Yeah, right. That happened."

"If she told you otherwise it was only to keep you from getting jealous."

"As if I'd touch that slag with a ten-foot pole."

Peyton squirmed, feeling uncomfortable and out of place amongst the casual banter and friendly play. It was as if she'd just come out of a sim, and the real world still felt a little, well, unreal. It was going to take some getting used to, being around people again. Sure, she had had her mother down in the shelter, but the woman was always so drugged out it was tough to hold many real conversations. It was amazing she hadn't gone crazy, alone with her thoughts for all these years.

"So, you're the one responsible for all of this?" she asked Tank, gesturing to the kids.

"Yeah, he is. Tank's a regular Pied Piper," Chase spoke up. "I swear, he must have some kind of flute stuffed in his pocket."

"Nah, man, I'm just happy to see you."

Raising an eyebrow, Chris stared at his brother.

Tank chortled, then turned back to Peyton. "Yeah, I guess you could say that I'm the leader of this here motley crew. When all the adults started dying, I realized someone had to step up to the plate. And I was the oldest."

"And the dumbest," Chase piped in playfully. Here in the Walmart, back with his crew, he seemed more relaxed, less intense, than he'd been out in the wild. More like his old self.

Tank smacked him on the shoulder. "Pot, kettle, black, Chasey," he said. "Anyway, I combed the city for survivors and brought them all back here. We have a pretty good set-up going on. Sleeping bags, food, water, toys. Even rigged up some electricity."

"Limited electricity. Which you are currently wasting," Chase remarked, motioning to the lights.

"Hey, the children wanted to play."

"Softie."

Tank shrugged, not denying it. "I try to make it as good for them as possible," he said. "I mean, it's not much of a life here, but it's better than being out there."

Peyton thought about the zombie she had fought and how it had come out of nowhere. She couldn't imagine a child being able to cope. "I can see that," she agreed.

Tank studied her, and his eyes grew a bit cold. "So, what's your story?" he asked. "Last I remember, you were standing my brother up on judgment day. Get a better offer?"

Peyton cringed. This was not the conversation she wanted to be having. "It's a long story," she mumbled. "My dad needed me and . . ." She trailed off. What good would it do to explain? In their eyes, she was a traitor. That's how it'd always be. "Sorry to leave you guys hanging."

"No skin off my back," Tank replied, his mouth twisting with humor. "In fact, I should thank you. Because of you bailing, there was room in the van for Anna Simmons." He paused, then asked, "So what happened to your old man? He was one of the few people who was probably prepared for this, considering who he was."

Peyton bristled, waiting for an insult. When one didn't come, she forced herself to relax. "I believe he's down in Florida," she said. "That's where I'm headed."

"What's down there?" Tank sounded genuinely curious.

"Disney World."

Chase's brother laughed richly. "Disney World? What, y'all got a sudden urge to ride s.p.a.ce Mountain?"

She gave him a tight lipped smile. Here it came. "My father and his scientist buddies are-I hope-holed up down there. They're working on rebuilding society. When things started getting bad, they made a pact to meet. It was meant to be the Eden of the new-"

"Hey, Tank, you've just survived the apocalypse. What are you going to do now?" the oldest boy called out from across the way. She hadn't realized he'd been listening.

Tank erupted in a howl of mirth. "I'm going to Disney World!"

Chase rolled his eyes, giving Peyton an apologetic look.

She clenched her jaw, trying not to take offense. They were just joking. Like Chase had said, you had to find humor, even in the most dire situations. But to her, this was no laughing matter. "I know it probably sounds weird," she tried. "But Disney makes perfect sense if you think about it. The way my father talked, his friends were planning to use the underground service tunnels to make the place completely defensible. Also, there are a ton of hotel rooms-localized residences with their own power and water plants. And Florida is warm year-round, so no worries about anyone freezing to death."

"I guess that could work," Tank said, his smile fading into thoughtfulness. "In theory anyway. Sort of like what we did here in the Walmart, but on a much larger scale."

Peyton nodded. "Right. So my dad made me promise that once the doors of the shelter opened, I'd head down to find him. They opened yesterday and so I'm on my way."

Tank seemed to consider this. "It's a nice idea," he replied after a moment. "But the problem is there's no way you'd ever make it to Florida. Not with how things are right now. You step out of this Walmart and the Others will have you for dinner and still be hungry for more. There's just too many of them and you can't predict where or when they'll pop up. It's best not to travel at all, in fact. Just hole up and keep hidden like we are in places of strategic advantage. Otherwise you won't stand a chance."

She bit down hard on her lower lip, silencing her automatic retort at his implication of weakness. She tried to remind herself that he had no idea who she was-what she was. He saw her as a normal, everyday teenage girl, not the warrior she'd become, thanks to her dad.

"Maybe so," she replied at last, keeping her voice even. "But I'm not entirely helpless, you see." She held out her fingers, displaying the zombie-blood-encrusted blades. Ew. She really needed to clean those.

"Yeah, check it, Tank," Chase interjected. "You should see what she can do with those bad boys. She took on one of the Others when I first ran into her. Big guy, too." Chris mimicked her martial arts movements with an exaggerated flair. "Hiiii-yah! Bang! Boom! The thing didn't know what hit it."

Tank let out a another whistle, staring down at the blades, an impressed look on his bearded face. "d.a.m.n. Your daddy make you those?"

Peyton nodded, feeling her cheeks heat under his scrutiny. "I've got ocular implants, too." She pointed to her mirrored eyes. "They allow me to see in the dark, have GPS navigation linked to an old-time satellite, and allow access to special databases he left up and running."

"Nice," Tank said, taking her hand and examining her fingers closer. "I could use a set of these, myself." He dropped her hand. "So, um, have you actually talked to your father lately?"

She frowned, not liking the knowingness in his voice. Half of her wanted to lie. Tell him she'd chatted with her dad just yesterday. But what good would it do? "No," she said at last, staring down at her feet, her cheeks continuing to burn. "Not for a while." Not since the day the shelter doors closed four years ago, in fact. Not that he needed to know that.

Tank's expression stilled and turned serious. "Look, I don't mean to upset you, but sugarcoating reality does no good, in my opinion. You need to face facts. Your father is likely dead. I hate to say it, but it's true. And even if he wasn't, there's no way you'll make it down to Florida, Edward Scissorhands or no," he added, giving her a sympathetic smile as he mentioned the old movie she and Avery used to love. "Why don't you stay here instead? We could use a kick-a.s.s chick like you to pick up the slack for my lazy, no-good brother over there." He gestured to Chase, a twinkle in his eyes.

Chase gave his brother the finger. "Please," he groaned. "Who catches half the deer around here? And who's the better cook?"

"Me, of course," Tank replied automatically.

"Yeah, right. The last time you tried to boil water you nearly burned us out of here!"

"Lies," Tank said. "If there were any lawyers left I'd sue you for slander." He turned back to Peyton. "So, what you do say? How about you skip the Magic Kingdom and spread some magic around here instead?"

She pursed her lips, not knowing what to say. It was nice of them to ask, and it was admittedly more than a bit tempting to agree. To forget everything she knew and just live out the rest of her life here, with Chase, just as they'd once planned to do so long ago. But she couldn't forsake her mission. Not after all she'd already gone through. The world needed her. Her father needed her. And now she needed him just as much. She didn't know how long she had before shutdown began and that meant there was no time to waste.

"Thanks for the offer," she said at last, "but I have to do this."

From the corner of her eye she noticed Chase's mouth dip into a deep frown, his snarky good humor all but disappeared. She wondered if he'd been secretly hoping they could convince her to stay. Maybe that was half his plan, bringing her back here in the first place. The idea warmed her more then she wanted to admit and she wondered what she'd would have done if he had been the one to ask her.

"Okay," Tank said, his voice accepting the fact that the subject was closed. "But at least stay the night. We'll hook you up with some supplies."

Peyton forced her thoughts back to the issue at hand. "Right," she said. "I'd appreciate those. But I do need to head out first thing in the morning."

"She's in a big hurry to save the world, Tank," Chase said, his voice now laced with bitterness. "Doesn't need us schlubs slowing her down."

Peyton stared down at her feet, feeling as if she had been punched in the stomach. She wished there were one sentence she could say, one thing that could make him and his brother understand who she was and what she'd become and why she couldn't stay. But they'd never understand. She was on her own until Florida.

"Well then, welcome to Hotel Walmart," Tank announced cheerily, obviously trying to relieve the tension in the air. "Maybe if you're lucky, Chase, chef extraordinaire, will cook you up some of his special five-star grub. Hope you like reconst.i.tuted beef stroganoff. It's his specialty," he added.