Tomorrow Land Part 5

"Sounds good," she forced herself to say. "In fact, right now I'm so hungry I could probably eat a zombie."

Tank's snorted. "Well, you've got half of one right there on your fingertips," he noted, gesturing to her gunky razor tips. Then he turned to his younger brother. "Hey, Chase, why don't you make yourself useful and get some disinfectant for her hands."

"Yeah, okay," Chase muttered, skulking off to obey. Peyton watched him go, trying not to notice how the taut leather of his pants perfectly molded to his backside. Seriously, the sooner she got away from Chase Parker, the better.

She turned back to the children, who'd gone back to playing. "Why are they dressed like that?" she asked, in an attempt to get her mind out of the gutter.

Tank leaned casually against a nearby pole, looking over the children with amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. "We gave up trying to dress them years ago," he explained. "It was way too hard to convince them of the whole matching concept, and we eventually realized it didn't make a difference anyway. No one's gonna see them who'd care, right? So we just point them in the direction of the children's department and tell them to go nuts. The older ones sometimes try to recreate what they see in the fashion magazines up front, and the little ones try to mimic the older ones, but basically none of them have any fashion sense whatsoever. h.e.l.l, half of them would run around naked if we let 'em."

Peyton watched as one of the triplets. .h.i.t his brother over the head with a plastic baseball bat. "Little savages, huh?"

"You said it, not me." Tank grinned. He still had that easy smile he'd been known for in high school, a smile that made Peyton feel comfortable and almost at home. Unlike Chase, who put her completely on edge.

"And the makeup?" she asked, taking another look at the "savages" and their war paint. Some of them were really creative.

"Ah, that's courtesy of my man Rocky. When we first started gathering up the kids, they were all freaked out and scared. None of them would talk to one another; they just huddled in corners, practically catatonic with fear and grief. So Rocky came up with this idea to tell them that we were a special tribe. He had this whole story made up and everything." Tank paused, remembering. "He told them all members of the tribe needed war paint. Then he hit a Halloween costume store downtown and brought cases and cases of makeup back with him. Painted all the faces of the children, one by one. They loved it. First time we saw any of them smile." He looked down at the kids lovingly. "Half the time I forget they're wearing it nowadays, I'm so used to seeing it. Probably looks pretty silly to you."

Peyton's eyes rested on the little bleach-blond Asian boy who'd painted red streaks down his cheeks and purple circles around his eyes. He cracked up laughing as the train he'd been playing with shot off the tracks and into the b.u.t.t of one of the girls who had been sitting nearby. Giggling, the girl charged him, knocking him over and wrestling him to the ground. They were all so happy looking for kids who had lost everyone in the apocalypse not long ago. It was almost hard to believe.

"I think it's cute," she said at last. "You guys are really good to them."

"Well, I try to teach 'em stuff," Tank explained, his face shining with pride. "We set up a little school in the cafe and meet for a couple hours a day. I hit the library down the street and got a bunch of books for them to read. I'm not the best teacher in the world, for sure, but I figured it was better than nothing. Right?"

She was impressed. "Definitely. They are the future, right?"

"d.a.m.n straight." After a moment he added, "Gotta take a leak. Be right back." He gave her a small wave, then walked off down a nearby aisle. She wondered how they took care of bathroom issues with no running water. Things were so different here, outside the safety of the bunker.

Her gaze found the children again, marveling at how well Tank had taken care of them. He was a good guy. A survivor and a provider. Her father could use people like him down at Disney World, she'd bet: dependable leaders who could get the job done. Once she joined her father and got settled in, she'd have to see if there was a way to bring this entire group down. She'd get the kids in school, give Tank a real job in whatever new society was being built. And Chase would come along too, she supposed. And maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to begin again. If he wanted to, that was.

She felt a tapping on her leg and looked down. A scrawny little girl, about six years old, with big brown eyes and black-colored braids, looked up at her with a curious expression on her war-painted face. She was joined a few moments later by the bleach-blond Asian boy.

"I'm Darla," the girl declared, pointing to herself. "And this is Red. Who are you?"

Peyton crouched down, dropping to Darla's eye level. She gave them her best smile. "I'm Peyton," she said. "Nice to meet you." Should she hold out her hand? No, her razors were still flared and covered with goo.

Darla squinted at her. "What's wrong with your eyes?" she asked, pointing at Peyton's lenses. "They look freaky."

Peyton tried not to bristle. Darla was just a kid, she tried to remind herself, and kids were brutally honest about that kind of thing. Especially kids who had grown up with no society or parents to teach them proper manners. Still, she couldn't help but squirm a little at the callous comment. Back at the shelter it had been easy to avoid mirrors, to pretend she was just a normal, everyday girl. But out here, amongst regular people, she knew she stood out like a sore thumb. A freak of nature. Or science, to be more precise. Ugly and disfigured and probably grotesque to a pretty little girl like Darla.

She realized the two children were still staring at her. "They're special lenses," she forced herself to explain, willing away the tremble in her voice. Truth be told, she'd rather go one-on-one with a flesh eating zombie than take on a couple of curious six-year-olds. "They help me see better."

"Well, they look weird," Red p.r.o.nounced, reaching up to try and touch them. Peyton managed to dodge his hand, her stomach roiling. She quickly rose to her feet, trying to still her pounding heart. Her cheeks burned in humiliation and it was all she could do not to flee the store altogether. They're just kids, she reminded herself. But it didn't quench the feeling of being violated, exposed.

"Hey, don't you rug rats have anything better to do than pester our guest?" Tank demanded, reappearing. She hadn't heard him return. "If not, I suggest you start peeling potatoes for dinner."

"Whatever," Red retorted, sticking out his tongue.

"Whatever," Darla repeated like a parrot.

"Oh, yeah? Is that how we speak to our elders?" Tank dove for the two children, grabbing one in each arm and whirling them in a circle. They squealed in protest. "You know what the punishment is for 'whatevering' me, don't you?"

"No!" Darla begged. "No, Tank!"

"Oh yes," he said, grinning wickedly. He set them down. "Tickle torture!"

They both screamed.

"You've got three seconds to get out of here and spare yourselves my wrath," Tank said. "One, two..."

The children scattered. Tank nodded. "Thought so," he said. He turned back to Peyton. "Sorry about that. No manners. Little savages, just as you said."

"Who are little savages?" Chase asked, making Peyton turn again. She hadn't heard him approach, either. He handed her a few wet-naps.

"Who do you think?" Tank replied.

Cheeks flaming, Peyton ripped open a wet-nap packet, trying to regain her composure as she wiped down her blades. How much had Chase and Tank overheard of the conversation between her and the pair of children? And what did they think of her... enhancements? Were they thinking exactly the same thoughts as the kids-but were just too polite to bring it up?

"You need to teach those brats some manners," Chase declared. "If I hear one more of them 'whatever' me, I swear to G.o.d..."

Tank laughed. "Reminds me of Tara, you know," he said, watching Darla and Red wrestling in the corner. "Every time one of them says it, I feel like she's back with us."

Peyton startled at the mention of their adopted sister's name. She'd almost forgotten...

Chase scowled at his brother. "I thought we agreed not to talk about her anymore."

Tank's expression fell. "Come on, Chase. Ignoring her death won't bring her back. We should celebrate the time we had with her. After all, she was-"

Chase held up a hand. "Whatever, guy. Do what you want. Say what you want. I'm going to get Peyton her supplies and then go play ball."

"Oh, no you don't. It's your turn to guard Spud," Tank corrected. "Rocky's been on guard duty since early this morning."

"Oh G.o.d, you still got a guard on him?" Chase cried, rolling his eyes. "That's ridiculous. It's been two weeks. He hasn't changed a hair on his head. He's clean. He's fine."

"We don't know that. He could still change."

"What's wrong with him?" Peyton asked, curious.

"Spud got a tiny bit nicked up by one of the Others a couple weeks ago when we were out gathering food," Chase explained. "So Tank here put him in jail."

"Quarantine," Tank clarified.

"The guy's been in the supply closet for two straight weeks," Chase argued. "And he's totally fine."

"What about that infection on his inner thigh?"

"It's just an ingrown hair. Or a boil. You know Spud never bothers to use soap when he bathes. He's dirty. But that doesn't mean, he's... you know."

Peyton shuddered, knowing all too well, in fact.

"Maybe he's immune like you, Tank," Chase suggested. He turned to Peyton. "Tank here's been bitten by Others about three or four times now, and he's completely fine."

"But you never know who's going to be okay and who's not," his brother interjected. "So we put anyone bitten in quarantine. To monitor them."

Made sense. "And your friend was bitten two weeks ago?"

"Yes. About that. And he's fine. Totally immune," Chase claimed. "I saw him this morning and he was doing crossword puzzles."

"I want to keep him two more days," Tank insisted. "We're better off being safe than sorry. I don't want him transforming in the middle of the night while we're asleep and eating the other children."

Peyton shuddered. Monsters that ate children. Monsters that were children eating children. The sooner she got to Disney, the better.

"What about you?" she asked Chase. "Are you immune?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. Never let one get close enough to find out. I'm called Chase for a reason, as I mentioned."

"You've been lucky," Tank reminded him. "But luck doesn't hold out forever. Especially for people as foolhardy as you."

"Whatever."

"See? You're as bad as the children."

Chase stuck up his middle finger, then grabbed a nearby shopping cart and whirled it around. The wheels squeaked in protest. "Come on, let's go get your supplies," he said to Peyton. To Tank he said, "I'll relieve Rocky when I'm done."

"Fine. Just don't come crying to me when he rips you a new one."

"It's fine, Tank. I'll deal. We'll only be a few minutes anyway."

Chase made the cart do a wheelie and then pushed it down the aisle. Peyton followed, a little disconcerted. She didn't get him. He acted angry one moment then completely blase the next. What was up with him? Neither personality fit what she remembered. He'd been a sweet, earnest boy who'd sacrifice everything if only someone asked.

Of course, in a way she had asked. And he'd sacrificed. And then she'd rejected that sacrifice without ever offering an explanation. It was no wonder he acted a bit resentful. She'd likely feel the same way.

He turned left, pushing the cart in front of him. Away from the laughter and light, the store started seeming a bit spookier. With only Chase's dim flashlight working, Peyton activated the night vision option on her implants in order to drive away the imagined ghosts. It was then that she realized Chase was looking at her strangely.

"What?" she asked, her cheeks heating again, wondering if he was looking at her implants.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just can't believe you're actually here. I never thought I'd see you again." He tossed a large backpack into the cart, followed by a water purifier and some bottles. He paused, then added, "You know, after you stood us up and all."

She stifled a sigh. Here came the anger. The fury he'd been holding inside for four long years. She deserved it, she guessed. She deserved all of it and more. But that wouldn't make his violent emotions any easier to handle. She wished there was a way to move on without a discussion. She wished...

"I never thought I'd see you again, either," she blurted out, realizing too late how lame that sounded. After all, it'd been her choice. Well, sort of.

He stopped the cart and looked at her. She couldn't read his expression. "You know, I waited for you," he said simply.

She hung her head, guilt gnawing at her insides as she pictured the scene. "I didn't mean... I didn't mean for you to," she stammered, not knowing the appropriate response to something like that. She imagined him standing there, out in the rain until the very last second. He would have, too; he wouldn't have given up on her. That was just him. His loyalty was one of things she loved most about him. If only there had been a way for her to get word to him. To let him know what had happened, why she had been forced to change her plans at the last moment. At least then he could have had some kind of closure.

He stayed still, staring at her so hard she felt naked under his gaze. "What happened?" he asked at last. "Why didn't you come, Peyton? After all that we talked about, why didn't you show?"

Gone was all arrogance, the c.o.c.ky grin. In its place was a naked vulnerability, an old hurt he'd probably tried to bury for years. Anguish flickered across his beautiful face. It made her want to answer. To explain it all away. But she knew that he wouldn't understand, and her explanation would only hurt him further. What was done was done, and there was no taking it back.

"My father needed me," she stated. The simplest truth there was.

Chase's face twisted. "What about me?" he whispered. "I needed you, too."

Her heart wrenched at his words. Words she knew were true. How could she explain why she'd done what she'd done? She didn't even completely understand it herself. And all he could see was that she'd made a choice. Between her father and him. And she'd chosen her father.

And she was doing it all over again.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said, sincerely but firmly, realizing it did no good to be ripping open these old wounds. To indulge in the past like this. Not when she was just going to have to leave him all over again. She'd hurt him enough already and this conversation was only going to make things harder in the end. Too many apologies and she'd have him hoping for something more. A way to continue where they'd off. And then, when she left in the morning, he'd hurt all over again. She couldn't bear to do that to him. To bring even more pain down on him than she already had.

"Maybe it's best we just concentrate on gathering supplies," she said at last.

"Yeah," he agreed in a choked voice. She could practically see him trying to shut off his emotions. Something he'd probably had to do a lot over the last four years. Just like she had.

They walked the aisles silently, each lost in their own thoughts as they gathered the appropriate supplies. When they were done, Chase turned to her, his face all business now. The moment between them was over. Maybe forever. The thought made her sad, even though she knew in her heart it was for the best.

"Okay," he said, throwing a few last things into the cart. "We've got you a backpack, dehydrated food, a water purifier, a solar flashlight, a sleeping bag and a tent. What else do you think you'll need?"

"How about a mule to carry it?" she groaned, looking at the almost full cart. The realities of the trip were beginning to sink in, and it wasn't looking pretty.

"Mule, no," Chase said. "We might be able to score you a horse, though. Ever ridden one?"

She raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Yes," she said. "I had lessons when I was a kid. Are horses still around? I mean, somewhere we could get one?"

"Sure." He nodded. "We rounded some up after we came down from the mountains. They're great for transportation now that cars don't really work. You must have noticed how the roads are all blocked up. We have like five or six in a makeshift stable. I'll see if Tank's okay with you taking one. I doubt it'll be a problem."

"Thanks, that'd be great." She felt an overwhelming relief. Trekking to Disney on horseback would be a heck of a lot easier than on foot or bike. "I owe you big time."

Chase gave her another look. Then he shook his head. "Before we head back," he said. "There's something I want to show you, okay?"

"What?" she asked, wondering what on Earth it could be.

He beckoned for her to follow. "You'll see."

Chapter Nine.

Chris pa.s.sed his own house that afternoon, his step light and his mouth involuntarily quirking. He couldn't help a half grin despite the weightiness of the problem he'd set out to solve. Peyton Anderson had invited him over after school. Sure, it was just to help investigate Mrs. McCormick's weird disappearance, but he'd take what he could get. He'd been looking for an excuse to talk to her since first grade, when she'd yelled at him for pulling her braids, and not even the solemnity of this occasion could dispel a small thrill of excitement.

He approached her house, his heart pounding in antic.i.p.ation. Maybe after they'd talked to her dad, she would invite him to dinner. Or maybe they could go out for soda. They'd start talking and she'd see that he was more than just the tech-head she a.s.sumed. He knew that just given an opportunity he could be the perfect guy for her. He just knew it. All he needed was a chance.

She was turned away from him in her driveway, a basketball in her hands. There was a hoop above her, and she shot at it. He squinted, surprised. She was playing basketball? Real-life basketball? He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen anyone play an actual sport. Then he remembered the rumors he'd heard. Her dad was some kind of crazy conspiracy theorist who wouldn't even let her own a sim deck. Chris hadn't believed it, though. I mean, who didn't have a sim deck in this day and age? And besides, he'd seen her cheering on the virtual sidelines of Basketball Dayz plenty of times. So maybe it wasn't true. Still, there she was, outside and playing real-life basketball, which was weird to say the least.