Tomorrow Land Part 8

She almost made it out. Through the aisles, toward the front doors of Walmart, and into the night. But then, like Lot's wife in Biblical times, she turned. She glanced back into the store. She thought about the faces of the children she was leaving behind, the already homeless orphans who were now robbed of their finest protector as well, clinging to one another, frightened, lost, and alone. They'd need someone to comfort them tonight, to help them get past this latest tragedy. And Chase, coc.o.o.ned in his own grief, didn't look like he was going to be that person.

She squared her shoulders and firmed her resolve. One night. She'd stay tonight as she'd originally planned, then she'd start her pilgrimage in the morning. This way she could make sure the kids had everything they needed and she could get Chase back on track.

She owed him that, at least. In fact, she owed him a lot more.

Pain wrenched at Chase's gut until he couldn't even think, a vise of grief crushing his chest. This was like Tara all over again, but this time he had no older brother to share his agony. Half of him wanted to just drive a knife through his own heart. Take a full bottle worth of pills at once. Anything to make the pain end. After all, what did he have left to live for? The world was a nightmare, the last of his family and friends had been killed, and he and these few children were living day to day, like sitting ducks, waiting for the next Spud to pick them off.

He fingered the knife he'd taken from Tank's boot and thought about how easy it'd be. One single cut down his wrist-or maybe something less girly, like a stab to the gut as those samurai used to do in j.a.pan. Either way, he could off himself. A few minutes of physical pain and it'd be over forever. He could do that.

He lifted the knife then stopped, hand frozen by the memory of his promise to Tank. He'd sworn to stay and take care of the children. His brother would hold him to that. If there was an afterlife and the two of them ever saw each other again, he didn't want to be ashamed. He wanted his brother to respect him.

Kneeling beside the corpse, Chase lifted his brother's heavy, lifeless frame. He cradled Tank in his arms like a baby, then staggered toward the front of the store, barely able to direct his flashlight. First he would find a place to bury his brother; he'd worry about the rest later.

Grabbing a shovel out of the Garden and Patio section, he managed to make it outside. The moon shone down in the night sky overhead as his mind raced with thoughts of self-recrimination. If only he hadn't been so distracted by Peyton. If only he'd relieved Rocky like he was supposed to, none of this would have happened. Tank would still be alive. But no. Once again, he had failed. Just like with Tara. He remembered her broken, bruised body lying lifeless on that stage like it was yesterday. He hadn't been able to save her. He hadn't been able to save Tank or Rocky. He hadn't been able to save anyone. He was utterly worthless.

And now he had eight children depending on him, eight children more helpless and defenseless than Tara or Tank had ever been. What was he going to do?

Pushing all thoughts from his mind, he scanned the parking lot for zombies. Just after dusk was usually the quiet time-when they napped after gorging themselves with meat from the noon hunt. And sure enough, the coast seemed clear. He crossed the lot and entered the small, adjacent field strewn with garbage and broken bottles. He stuck his shovel into the ground and stepped on it. Burial seemed a bit silly in some ways, what with the piles of skeletons everywhere you looked, but Chase couldn't bear to leave his brother's body exposed to the elements or to be ripped apart by feral dogs. Tank had been a good guy. n.o.ble, kind, true. He had taken good care of them all with no thought for himself. He deserved some dignity in death.

Sweat beaded on Chase's forehead as he dug. Thank goodness it wasn't winter and the ground was soft. Even so, it took forever to create a hole big enough to inhume a large man like Tank. He finished at last though and wiped the sweat away with his sleeve, mumbling a little prayer to whichever G.o.d was left to listen. Then Chase dropped his brother in and started covering him over with dirt.

At first his brain entertained a wild notion that Tank would suddenly leap from the grave, claim he was just joking and he'd never leave his little brother alone in the world. But of course that didn't happen, and eventually he filled in the hole. Tank-or Trey Parker, as he'd once been known-was gone forever.

Chase dropped his shovel and sank to the ground, head in his hands. What was he going to do? Everyone his age was gone. Well, everyone except Peyton, and she'd be leaving for Disney World soon. If she hadn't already. He felt horrible about yelling at her. After all, this wasn't her fault. She'd just caught him at the wrong moment, when rage had welled up inside and captured his every sense. He'd needed someone separate to blame-someone, anyone-for the senselessness that had robbed him of his family. He now knew he was the one in the wrong.

Peyton probably hated him. She'd probably wasted no time grabbing her supplies and heading out on her mission, leaving him alone with eight children for whom he had no idea how to care. He wouldn't blame her if she'd left, but it hurt to consider it nonetheless.

He dug his boot into the dirt, frustrated. What was he going to do-hole back up in Walmart, wait for the next person to get bitten, the next person to die? How would he provide food for all of the kids? As much as he'd teased Tank about being a superior hunter, his brother had done quite a bit of the work himself. As had Rocky. And Spud had tended the garden. Chase didn't know the first thing about farming, and what if something laid him low?

He'd promised Tank he'd take care of them. He also had a fleeting premonition that if they stayed here, they'd die. But what was the alternative? What else could they do, and where could they go that was safe?

A light bulb went off above his head.

Disney World.

It was both a destination and a hope. Peyton had claimed that her father and his cronies were making it the last human outpost, a place where people could meet and rebuild the world. It was defensible, she'd said, and they would have beds enough for everyone. There'd probably be a lot of adults, too-meaning there would be people who'd know how to take care of children.

Of course, this plan would involve tagging along with Peyton, the girl who'd betrayed him all those years ago, left him standing in the rain, cold and alone, risking his life for nothing. He still had feelings for her, wanted her to like him, but he didn't want to be indebted to her or ask her for any favors. He wanted to be the one in control this time. However, he didn't see any alternative. They could stay here and die, or head for the one place where there might be hope.

He'd have to swallow his pride. But he'd be doing it for the children. For his brother.

"I think it's the right thing to do, Tank," he said to his brother's grave. "If we make it, we'll have a new future. The children will grow up safe. If not... well, maybe it's better to die on your feet than sitting on your a.s.s."

Tank didn't reply, but Chase nonetheless felt a certainty growing inside him. This was definitely the right move. He just had to convince Peyton.

He felt tears welling up in his eyes again; once more he was reminded that no matter how far he'd come, he was still weak. He was still the stupid tech-head no one ever took seriously. Well, they'd have to now. There was no one else left.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the pill bottles he'd scored that afternoon. He was just going to take one, he decided as he messed with the childproof cap. After all, he'd had a horrible day. Drugs, he'd found, did the trick of melting the pain away. And he had pain to spare at the moment.

Yes, just a few moments of mindlessness, that was all. Then he'd go back to the Walmart. He'd find Peyton and convince her to take him and the kids to Disney World.

He could only hope she'd say yes.

Chapter Thirteen.

"Was that one of the Parker boys from down the street?" Mom asked as Peyton walked back into the house. She was still fussing with her cookies. Not surprising. Every other woman in the world would have used a Smart Oven for perfect crispiness and flavor. Ashley Anderson did it the old-fashioned way.

Peyton grabbed another cookie off the rack. "Yeah," she said, her mouth wonderfully full of chocolaty goodness. "He was just... helping me with some homework."

"He seems like such a nice boy," her mother remarked.

"I guess." Peyton wasn't about to take the bait. Ashley had probably been spying on them out the kitchen window. She'd likely seen her daughter almost lose her head and make out with the school tech-head in the front yard. Bleh. It was bad enough that Peyton could still feel Chris's fingers on the back of her hands. Even worse that she still had a weird aching in the pit of her stomach, her traitorous mind wondering where things might have led if her dad hadn't interrupted. She didn't need to hear Mom's encouragement on top of it.

But her mother wasn't the type to be dissuaded by vague answers. She continued, "His family is nice, too. They adopted that little African girl a few years ago. She was an orphan, you know. We had a fundraiser for her."

"Yes, her name's Tara. I know," Peyton snapped, a little exasperated. All she'd wanted was a cookie, not a meddling matchmaker. "Look, if there's something you want to say, why don't you come right out and say it?"

Her mom looked at her. "How's Drew?"

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" No, her mom didn't miss a trick. "Let's just say that Drew's no longer in the picture," she said. "Not that Chris is," she added quickly, lest Ashley get the wrong idea. "He was just comforting me about the whole thing."

"Oh, honey." Her mom rose from the kitchen table and walked over to give her a hug. But Peyton suddenly realized she didn't need one.

"No, it's fine," she said, waving her mother off, surprised at just how okay she felt about things. "It's better this way, actually."

"Are you sure?" her mom asked, studying her. "The way you looked earlier, I was worried. I was waiting for the right moment to bring it up."

It was nice to know her mom cared, even if in this case she couldn't change anything. Peyton fingered the diamond Chris had given her, thinking about what he'd said. "You know what, Mom? I think I really am."

"Peyton!" her dad called from the bas.e.m.e.nt. "Are you up there?"

She groaned. "Gotta go," she told her mom. "Gotta see what Admiral Armageddon wants."

Her mother handed her a napkin full of cookies. "Take these down with you," she suggested. "Even the admiral himself has a weakness for chocolate chips. Maybe he'll go easy on you."

"Thanks, Mom." Peyton grinned. She grabbed the cookies and headed downstairs.

Her dad was standing at the bottom, arms crossed over his chest, not looking at all pleased.

"Uh, I brought you some cookies?" Peyton said, holding them out as a peace offering.

He shook his head. "Not hungry."

"What's wrong?" she asked. He looked really annoyed. What had she done to p.i.s.s him off? Her training was going as well as could be expected, and she'd have more time to devote to it now that Drew was out of the picture.

"Peyton, what was the meaning of you bringing that boy down here to talk to me?" her father asked. He spat the word boy as if attempting to expel poison. This was certainly a one-eighty from her mom's reaction.

"Er, what do you mean?" she asked. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal, as you call it, is the end of the world. The apocalypse is almost upon us." Ian Anderson uncrossed his arms then crossed them again. She caught a whiff of whisky on his breath. Great. Things were going to get even better. "The government has spies everywhere. And we don't have any clue regarding who is safe to trust and who might be working for them."

"Uh, Dad? Chris is just a kid from school, not to mention our neighbor. He's lived down the street from us since he was six years old. He's definitely no government agent."

"And you know this how? What if he was just recruited? You say he's lived down the street for years, yet I've never seen him in our house until today. Don't you think that's a bit convenient, especially when he's asking what he's asking about the government?"

"Well..." She sighed. "I used to think he was a bit of tech-head, if you must know. I didn't want him here. But trust me, that's not 'cause he's suddenly turned James Bond."

"You brought him down to my lab!" her dad continued, his voice rising in anger. "What if he saw something I was working on and is, even now, reporting back to his superiors?"

"His superiors?" Peyton cried, exasperated. "The only superiors he has is his mom and dad."

"Peyton, you're obviously not taking me very seriously," Ian scolded, walking back to his lab bench. "I would have expected more from you-especially now that you've seen the first signs."

Oh G.o.d, where was he going with this? Had he drunk even more whisky than usual? "First signs?" she asked, knowing she should resist the urge to encourage him, especially in this state. But she had to get his mind off Chris.

"Of the apocalypse. You know, disease. Plague. Your Mrs. McCormick is obviously one of the first to fall. And the government's scared. They know as well as I do that more will come. G.o.d will sweep down on this world and smite those who deny His name."

"Uh, okay." Peyton leaned against a nearby pole, shoulders slumping. Thank goodness Chris wasn't still around to hear this. She loved her dad but his conclusions were sketchy to say the least. There were a lot of problems in the world, yes. There might be government cover-ups, yes. But one sick old lady plus one weird government van collection did not an apocalypse make.

But she knew better than to argue. "Sorry," she said instead. "I won't bring anyone down here again."

"Actually, I think it would be better if you never saw that boy again, either."

"What?" She wasn't prepared for her stomach's strong reaction to that mandate. It wasn't as if she'd made plans to hang out with Chris in the near future. But it was ridiculous for her dad to forbid it. "That's stupid."

"Is it?" Her dad peered over his black-rimmed gla.s.ses at her. "He wanted to come down to the lab. He wanted to ask questions."

"He was concerned about Mrs. McCormick!"

"So he told you."

"Oh G.o.d, Dad, I can't listen to this anymore." Peyton started up the stairs. "I'm going to help Mom bake her cookies."

"Fine. But remember what I told you, Peyton. More will fall. And we don't know whom we can trust."

"Right. Plague, famine, badness. Trust no one," she muttered. "The truth is out there, and I want to believe." She couldn't resist adding the old X-Files joke. That was another old series she and Avery had streamed. Though she had to admit, even Fox Mulder, the FBI agent in the series, wasn't half as strange as her father.

A shout echoed up the stairs. "The end is near, Peyton. I'm the only one who can save us!"

"Sure you can, Dad," she muttered under her breath as she shut the door behind him, leaving him down in the dimly lit bas.e.m.e.nt alone. "If only you could save yourself first."

Chapter Fourteen.

"Okay, line up single file so I can count you."

Back in Toys, Peyton barked orders at the whimpering children, trying to gain some semblance of control over the chaotic situation. The three youngest were crying. The middle ones were standing white-faced and stoic. The two oldest were off in a corner, whispering furiously.

Peyton clapped her hands and repeated her order, not sure if they'd obey her or not. After all, it wasn't as if she had any claim of authority over them, save that she was older by a few years. What she really needed was for Chase to come back. He, at least, would be a familiar authoritative face. But she hadn't seen him since he'd yelled at her. She prayed he hadn't taken off for good. That would be unforgivable. But no, she couldn't imagine the boy she once knew-even if he had changed over the years-just abandoning the children like that. He'd be back. She just hoped it'd be soon.

The children at last obeyed, shuffling into line, all eyes on her. They looked so sh.e.l.l-shocked and sad, it broke her heart to see them.

Peyton ran a hand through her hair. Now what? What would an adult do in a situation like this? Though she was nineteen and by far the oldest, she still felt like a little kid. She thought back to her parents. Her father would have probably started barking orders at them, telling them it did no good to cry while her mother would call for a big group hug and then organize a bake sale. Not that there was anyone left to buy cookies.

She decided to try something in-between, something kind but firm. She had to make them feel safe in her charge.

"Is anyone hurt?" she asked.

Darla stepped forward, a single black pigtail stuck in her mouth. "I got a boo-boo on my knee," she announced, sticking out her left leg for observation. Gone was the former bl.u.s.ter she showed when making fun of Peyton's eyes, and Peyton felt a tug of guilt for being angry with her earlier. She was just a child. She hadn't meant to be cruel. And now she needed her help.

She knelt down, taking the child's leg carefully in her hands, examining the wound. She let out a breath when she saw that it was just a bruise-a small one, with no skin broken in any way. She guided Darla's foot back to the floor, then looked up at the little girl.

"That must hurt a lot," she said in a serious voice. "How did it happen?"

"Guy, that's nothing," b.u.t.ted in one of the triplets. "You shoulda seen Tank. He had his guts ripped out. They were all over the floor. Tons of blood, too! Like buckets full!"

Peyton winced as Darla and the brunette standing beside her burst into a fresh set of tears. Another kid said, "Shut up, Drummer." Great, they were fighting.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said, turning to Drummer, who stared back at her with defiant eyes. "Your detailed a.n.a.lysis is very helpful." She knew he was probably just as upset, but overcompensating with false bravado.

The oldest girl stepped forward, a blond teen who wore a ridiculously short skirt and had spray-painted her hair with blue streaks. "I'm Starr," she announced. "Is Tank dead?"

Peyton swallowed hard, not sure what to say. Then she decided the truth was probably best. After all, the kids would find out sooner or later. And she had a feeling they were pretty used to funerals.

"Yes," she said simply, looking from face to face. "I'm sorry, but he is."

The children nodded, staring down at their feet. They looked sad, but not shocked. Which made sense, really. Pretty much everyone they'd ever loved had died at one time or another. Their parents, their siblings, their friends. They likely didn't remember things any other way.

"Rocky's dead, too. And Spud. Who's going to take care of us?" demanded Drummer. "Who's going to hunt for food?"

"And tend the garden," added one of his brothers.