Glitter + Ashes Page 14

“Is she okay?” Kody’s voice made Char jump so hard that something twinged in their neck.

  “No.” They rubbed the sore, twitching muscle, trying to massage the pain out. “She wants everyone out.”

  “What? At this time of night?”

  “She’s really upset,” Char said. Their eye was drawn to the gun at Kody’s hip; an old revolver taken from his dad’s house after he’d popped with most everyone else. There was still a blue stain on the grip. If Kody knew, he’d kill Maya. Char had to make sure she was alone and couldn’t hurt anyone, get her into the forest somehow. She’d have a better chance of survival out there than she would in her own home.

  “I’m gonna go talk to her.” Kody took a step toward Char, and they instinctively grabbed his arm. He looked past them rather than at them. A silence more restless and sickly than the whispers fell over the room.

  When Char turned, Maya stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hand on the bannister.

  “Maya?” Char said. Maya didn’t respond. “It’s time to go back to bed.”

  “These tongues are burned,” Maya said. Her voice was all wrong, shivery in a way that scrambled Char’s stomach contents. “They can speak, but the taste is all blood and blister. Do you taste it?”

  “Yes,” Char asked, not knowing what Maya wanted. Maya turned to look at her, a kelly green tear running down her cheek. Fear blossomed across the guests’ faces like paint clouding water, but none of them moved.

  “No, you don’t.” Maya placed a hand on Char’s shoulder. “But you will.”

  “Everyone get out.” Char’s throat was too tight for anything more. “Go!” It was as if Char had cracked a whip over the guests’ heads. They moved as one, pushing toward the back door in terrified silence. The only sounds in the room were ambient music and shuffling feet.

  “These hands rake up shadows. Do you feel it?” Maya asked. Her eyes were green all around now, swirling and pearlescent.

  “No.” Char tried to jerk away, but Maya was too strong, now. All thoughts of getting her somewhere safe had fled. “I just want to go home, Maya.”

  “You are going home. The doors are opening.”

  “Maya, I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  The house had emptied out. Char didn’t know how to reason with an Oracle. How could they? Maya was seeing things beyond them, beyond the fragile world that had begun to crumble when half the people in it exploded into rainbows of color and more went Chromate every day.

  “Char, back away from her.” Kody drew his gun from its holster. Char made another attempt to pull away, and Maya’s fingers dug into their flesh.

  “I can’t.”

  “Close your eyes. Cover your nose and mouth,” Kody said.

  “Please don’t.” Tears stung Char’s eyes.

  “If I don’t do it, someone else will. And they’ll have to put you down, too, if she hasn’t already popped you,” Kody said.

  “Kody, please,” Char begged. “We can take her away from here, to be with the others.”

  “You and I both know this is kinder.”

  “Please.”

  Kody cocked the revolver with a metallic snap.

  “Kody, no!”

  The shot was so loud that Char’s ears hurt, rang, buzzed. Kody slumped against the door jamb, clutching his head. He splattered, no scrap of flesh or bone left inside him. Only bright purple wetness and empty clothes remained, surrounded by the alien stink of a pop. Like something poisonous and green, like seawater steam. Like death. Not even gunpowder could cut through that smell.

  “Char?” Maya’s voice shook. When Char looked at her, Maya’s expression was frightened, confused, but the eyes were still wrong. Her hand slipped from Char’s shoulder. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Char breathed.

  “I’m scared. Please.” Emerald tears streamed down her face, seeped from her nose and mouth. Char didn’t know what she was begging for, but Maya had sheltered them so many times. It was their turn to shelter her, regardless of the risk.

  “I won’t leave you,” they said.

  Maya let out a wrenching sob, crumpling to the ground. Char knelt next to her, drawing her into their arms. She shook, murmuring so low that Char couldn’t understand her.

  Maya’s shivers were contagious, working their way into Char’s chest until they could barely breathe. They coughed, and red came up. Not blood, but fluid filled with that stink of forest rot.

  The visions came on hard and fast, Char’s head spinning out into busy dreams of angels with mouths full of hot blood and hands streaming with darkness. Roots reaching deep, they sucked up water and life until their perfect heads burst into swarms of bent-winged cicadas, sending shards of halo slicing through the air.

  The insects took to the sky, and Char felt the overwhelming urge to join the swarm. If they could fly, carry Maya away from people who would hurt her, to go to the safe place where the crows and sparrows and finches had gone, maybe everything would go all right. Maya’s hand was in theirs. They leapt, their feet finding the soft, mossy earth of the stump of a neck. There, the bone and marrow between Maya and Char, the whole world spread out before them beneath a sky as violet as what remained of Kody.

  “Thank you for coming on this journey with me.” Maya’s smile shone brighter than the shimmering chitin of the cicadas humming around them.

  Char, spellbound, could only smile back. They and Maya were becoming, two nebulae condensing into stars. The colors were deep in their bones, dragging their consciousness down into the nourishing soil. Char wanted nothing more than to sleep, with no concern for all of the slowly fading constructions of humanity, but she and Maya weren’t safe until they flew.

  Roots had already tangled around Char’s ankles, trying to pull her down into the rich earth and moss, but they dragged their legs free. Hot streaks of pressure bit into their flesh, and they knew they were bleeding, but they couldn’t bring themself to care as they broke for the edge. Maya’s hand nearly slipped from Char’s as they fell into the electric purple sky together, the city vanishing into trees standing tall as angels. Cool air bathed them, feverish anxiety and pain washing away into the night. Since the first pops had splattered the city, Char’s dreams were restless, full of searing color and wild movement. The dark stillness was a relief, and for the first time in a thousand nights, they could rest easy.

  When Char woke, they were soaking wet, weak after a broken fever. They wiped their face with their hand, and it came away pink, the red fluid diluted by sweat. They lay somewhere soft, looking at the ceiling of a rough wooden shelter with bright blue sky peeking through the cracks.

  Their legs almost gave out when they stood, but it wasn’t weakness that nearly made them fall. Outside the little wooden house, sunshine bathed more crude structures, surrounded by verdant forest. Instead of the moans of ghosts, the air just outside rang with birdsong. They laughed, giddy with exhaustion and something beyond hope. A warm hand touched their clammy one, and they turned to meet brown eyes brimming with relief and joy.

  “Welcome back,” Maya whispered. “It’s been a while.”

  Mile after mile, my throat has been getting worse.

  I tap your shoulder, desperate for a break. The shadows between the broken buildings are enough cover for the moment. Every lungful of air makes my throat itch, but we’ve been running all morning and I’m ready to collapse. You feel it too, but you don’t complain. You never complain. Never need a break. And I can’t help resenting you for that.

  I’m still mad. You know I can never just let a fight go. I’m too proud and knowing that about myself makes me angrier. Why can’t you see it my way? Trying to help others is too risky. I want us to be safe; you want everyone to be safe.

  The bandanna plastered over my mouth is soaked through with my sweat and spit. The falling ash sticks to it and every breath tastes like the end of the world. I fumble with my canteen and press the warm tin against my cracked lips. You used to s
ay they were so soft. The last of my water trickles down my throat like shards of a broken mirror. I want to cough, but that much noise is dangerous. I hold my breath until my lungs scream and my chest burns and I gasp for air. The poisonous air. My throat is an inferno and now I’m out of water.

  Damn.

  You hold out your canteen. I refuse. I used up my water and I have to live with it. I won’t give you the satisfaction of helping me right now. You know how petty I get. We’re almost there, anyway. I tighten the strap of my pack. We need to keep moving.

  The dull roar of thunder accompanies us. The clouds threaten rain, but never deliver. Can you remember the last time it rained? I almost ask you before I catch myself. Of course, I blame you for the fight, so now I’m mad I can’t talk to you about rain. What I wouldn’t give for just a few drops. Enough to fill our canteens. To wash us clean.

  A scream echoes across the ruined city.

  I stumble forward, crouching down in the shadow of a building. You dive down next to me and we lay still for a moment, panting. I point over your shoulder, through the alley, risking the movement. The river is visible down the hill, a darker gray background between the buildings. We have to keep moving. We are so close.

  Another beast screams, its hellish wail echoing in the gloom. A weeper. Hunting us. A second monster answers, ahead and to the left. Much closer. They’re surrounding us and we’re out of time.

  Vamos, you whisper with your eyes.

  I push myself off the building and we stumble down the alley. My legs burn as I pull my boots through the oily mud. More wails tear through the air. They’re getting closer.

  Your foot catches and you pitch forward. I catch your arm before you fall and we stumble into a pile of garbage together. Old cans and bits of plastic cascade off the mound. A chorus of screams fill the air around us, closer this time. Right on top of us. You shove me forward and I yank us into a doorway, scrambling to get under cover. I shut the door behind us, barely able to hear the latch over the pounding of my heart, and we crouch under a grimy window.

  A weeper pads into the alley and we duck down out of sight. It scuttles forward and pounces on the spilled garbage, hungry for blood. Our blood. I close my eyes to the world, hoping to shut out the sound of it, but it’s like its image is imprinted inside my eyelids. I can see it tearing through the pile with black claws and spidery limbs, scattering trash to find its prey. Its smell seeps into the ruined building, and I gag on the sweet rot.

  You squeeze me tight and I try to get a hold of myself. We barely breathe. We just shiver together. For comfort, for safety. The way we’ve been holding each other for years. It’s easier to be brave when I’m in your arms, but I’m still a coward. I’m just scared for you, for me, for us. Scared about our fight and what you’ll do to help others. I want to tell you I’m sorry. That I love you. But I don’t. I can’t. Not right now.

  The weeper hisses. I can imagine it, angry, its face up to the darkened skies, searching. Seconds tick past, stretch into an eternity, filled with only the ragged breath of the monster outside and our hearts thudding in our chests. Another scream and I hear it gallop away, other wails answering it further away from us.

  We don’t dare break apart. Not for a long while. We hold each other in the shadows and listen as the howls become fainter and fade away. If it weren’t for you, I’d have given up long ago. I’d have laid down in the mud and shut my eyes and thanked death for finding me.

  You squeeze my hand. I don’t want to let go. Not right now. Not ever.

  “Come on,” you murmur. “We’re almost there.”

  I open my mouth to say I’m sorry, but you’re already moving.

  You pull me through the remnants of the city, all trash and rot, empty buildings stained black and held up by only the memory of what they once were. We crouch low and duck from cover to cover. The cries of the hunting weepers are still far off, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more hiding in the shadows.

  The last crumbling edifice gives way to the riverbank. There, out in the middle of the water, is our destination. What everything has been for. Our safe haven.

  The lighthouse juts up from a small, rocky island. Its red and white paint is faded by time, but the colors look garish against the bleak landscape. It looks smaller than when I last saw it, but that was decades ago. It was summer, then. The sun was warm and I was small.

  “See, we made it,” you say.

  “It’s just like I remember,” I lie.

  We pick our way down the riverbank, through the dead trees and haggard undergrowth. Nothing grows here. Nothing grows anywhere. The howls have receded, but the overpowering silence seems worse somehow. Now that we’re this close, it seems like we have everything to lose. I have everything to lose.

  No, I can’t think like that. I still want to convince you not to turn it on. We’d have everything we need. We would purify the water and plant seeds and grow them. Together. We can’t help others, but we can help each other. There is only us.

  A howl tears through the air behind us.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  We sprint the last few feet to the water’s edge. You pull a bright yellow cube from your pack and yank the tab. The raft inflates while I unfasten the oars from my pack. We push the rubber vessel into the water and jump in, careful not to splash ourselves. I jam the oars against the shore and push us into the river. The current grabs us and I row us out.

  Weepers careen down the bank, skittering on their thin limbs like insects. Their paper thin skin stretches over knobbed bones, showing the dark blood inside. Black stains surround their eyes and ooze out of their nostrils. They smell rancid. One smashes into a tree and impales itself, then tears free, desperate to get at our flesh. Its momentum carries it a few paces, spraying black blood the whole way, before it collapses in a twitching heap. Two others pounce, snarling and snapping at each other before devouring it.

  Others gallop past and plunge in after us. The river bubbles and hisses. Smoke rises from their flesh as layers of skin slough off of them, burned away by the acidic water. The further in they wade, the faster their flesh dissolves.

  It doesn’t stop them. It barely even slows them.

  They swim faster than we can paddle, trailing black corruption behind them. Their bodies are all pale flesh and gray bone now, peeled of skin and sinew, but they keep coming.

  A black claw slashes toward the raft, but I smash it with my oar, shattering the bones. It screams and gurgles, slipping beneath the water for a moment. It flails its shattered limb at me as it surfaces again. It tries to pull itself forward with its ruined hand, but it’s barely a stump now. Acrid smoke pours from its mouth and nostrils. Black blood bubbles from it, like tar.

  It drags the stump along the side of the raft, trying to grab on, even as I row us away, launching us free from its grasp. The raft rocks, we slow, and another weeper catches us, even as the first finally disappears beneath the surface of the river.

  I’m too slow this time. Claws sink into the boat, tearing holes in the rubber. The punctures whistle softly, the quiet sound more urgent than the starved screaming of the weepers. My oar rises and falls, chipping large pieces of flesh and bone off the weeper’s face until it slides off, choking as it sinks below the water, and its body breaks apart. I paddle harder. We’re almost there.

  “Jaime!”

  I whirl around. A weeper has its claws around your vest, its bottom half still in the river.

  I hack at the thing, trying to get it off you, trying to row, trying to do both. The oar blade cuts into it, spraying black all over the raft and I nearly vomit at the stench. It doesn’t slow down. It heaves itself up and bites into your collar.

  NO!

  You scream. Or maybe I’m screaming. I’m trying to kick the thing off of you but it won’t let go. Oh god, no. Let go! Let go of him! I smash my oar into its head and cave the back of its skull in and it slides off the raft. It sinks beneath the surface of the river and a sudden silence crashes dow
n on us, interrupted only by your pained breathing and a distant whining sound.

  You’re slumped against the side of the raft, pressing a hand against the bite, but it’s no use. Blood oozes through your fingers and dribbles onto the fluorescent yellow raft. It pools in the bottom of the boat, mixing with the black of the weepers.

  “No, no, no, no no nonono...” I add my own hand on top of yours, desperate to hold tight. “We’re almost there. Just hold on. Por favor.”

  You look tired. As if this is all a minor inconvenience and you’re ready for a nap. Wake up! I shake you. “Hold on!”

  Your eyes widen for a moment and focus on mine before drifting behind me. I’m trying to stop the bleeding. There’s so much blood. You point over my shoulder.

  “The boat...”

  The whine of escaping air hits me. I have to stop it or we’ll sink right here. Like I have to stop the bleeding. Snarls and splashes from behind. More weepers.

  I find tape in my pack and tear off haphazard pieces to seal the side of the raft. I turn back to you. Oh God, there is so much more blood now. You’re so pale. You can barely keep your eyes open. I tear off more pieces of tape and press it to the wound. White bone and slick red. The duct tape won’t stick. More. More duct tape. No, something else. I tear off my sweater and press it against the wound, I wrap the tape around your shoulder. Your bloody hand grabs mine. You’re so weak.

  “It’s okay.” Your voice is a whisper. “Get us there. We’ll be safe.”

  I choke on a sob. My hands, covered in your blood, are trembling. The splashing is getting louder. The weepers are close. No. I take the oars and push us towards the island. The lighthouse looms above us.

  I’ll get us there.

  The raft scrapes against black rock and I stumble out. I pull us onto the shore, my feet slipping beneath me. Behind us, weepers sink beneath the water, their screaming turning to gurgling.

  The lighthouse is all we could have hoped for. Less of the black, oily corruption covers the ground here. The soft lapping of the river washes much of it away. I lift the raft out of the water with you in it. We’re safe. We made it.