The Last Girl (14 page)

13

She opens her mouth to scream, but Dellert moves like lightning.

He shoves something between her lips that shunt her jaws painfully apart. Her cry dies in her throat just as one of the guard’s hands comes up and strikes her upon the left temple.

The room whips to the side, and before she can gain her balance, she’s being hauled out of her room and down the hallway. Zoey blinks, trying to clear her vision, but the blow has left her head spinning, unable to focus completely on anything. She grunts and tries to dig her heels into the smooth floor, but Dellert is strong and has her by both upper arms. Whatever he put in her mouth digs into her tongue, its surface rough and sharp. A rock, maybe. She shakes her head, trying to expel it, but it’s stuck fast between her teeth. Her stomach slops with fear as Dellert forces her around the closest corner and stops beside a featureless door she’s only noticed in passing. She tries to scream again as he scans his bracelet and the locks open, but his fingers entwine themselves in her hair, and he yanks her through the doorway so hard her head rocks to the side and the bones in her neck pop.

Through the door is a dimly lit stair landing with a set of treads running both up and down. A dome light throws shadows across the other two occupants of the space, and when Zoey focuses on them, she quits breathing for a long moment.

Meeka stands in the closest corner of the landing with Dellert’s companion, Baron, beside her. The younger guard has her pinned to the wall and is nuzzling her neck with his mouth. The same type of gag protrudes from between Meeka’s lips, and her dark eyes are alight with panic as they meet Zoey’s.

“Baron! I told you, nothing until we get there,” Dellert says, his voice just above a whisper. Baron snaps away from Meeka as if he’s been struck and wipes at his mouth.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry my ass. Get moving.”

The two guards shove them down the stairs, hands grasping their hair. Zoey’s heart beats so hard her vision jumps with each pulse. Her breath rattles in her chest, and she feels saliva escaping her mouth around the sides of the gag.

They go down, farther and farther through the stairway until they reach the lowest level. Dellert again scans his bracelet, his hand loosening some on her hair, and Zoey takes the opportunity to spin and throw a punch at his throat. Dellert sees it coming and turns, taking the strike on the meat of his shoulder. His retribution is immediate. His hand comes out, slapping her on the same place he’d struck her earlier. Her sight bleaches at the corners and she nearly falls, her jaws clenching down hard. The taste of blood fills her mouth.

“You try that again and I’ll strangle you to death,” Dellert says, emphasizing his words by sliding a callused thumb beneath her chin. His hand clamps down on her throat, and she gags as he releases her. “But first I’ll kill her in front of you. Got it?” He jerks a thumb at Meeka and ducks his head so that his face is level with hers, their eyes inches apart. She nods. “Good. Now let’s move.”

Dellert rescans his bracelet and checks the hall outside before ushering her into it. They are in the laundry corridor beside the mechanical room, the sonorous throb invading her bones. Realization of where they’re being taken hits her and she begins to struggle again, but there’s no escaping Dellert’s grip. He guides her to the mechanical entrance and opens the door.

The reek of oil and hot steel assaults her nasal passages, and she nearly gags again. She prays silently that the yellow flash of a worker’s jumpsuit will appear in the tangled rows of equipment, some promise of salvation, but none does. Dellert shoves her to the left, past the hanging worker uniforms, past the stand of lockers and humming electrical panels. Then they are in the narrow passage that Miss Gwen and the anonymous guard occupied only days ago, the end of the bench where the instructor rested still clear.

Zoey scans the rest of the space, but the aisle ends in a cement wall a dozen yards away and there is no possibility that even she can squeeze through the gaps in the cabinets. Dellert gives her a last shove and she stumbles, catching herself on the edge of the workbench. Meeka bumps into her, and Zoey snags her friend’s arm as she’s about to fall. They stare at one another, wide-eyed, trembling, and even though Meeka doesn’t resemble her at all, Zoey feels like she’s looking into a mirror. The same terror is etched into Meeka’s face, and there is something in her eyes that is beyond panic. It is like a cord has come unplugged somewhere deep in the younger woman’s head. Zoey feels the same anchoring pleading to be released within her own mind. What a joy it would be to detach and become an otherness, separate from the all-consuming fear that’s rising with shining teeth and a promise of what’s to come.

“You can take those things out of your mouths now,” Dellert says, standing with his hands on his hips, blocking the only way out of the aisle. “And don’t bother screaming after you do, no one’s going to hear you.”

Zoey reaches up and gets her fingers around the thing in her mouth. She stretches the tendons in her jaw even farther, the pain so bright she whimpers from it. She tugs and pulls the gag out, its rough edges grinding against her teeth. It
is
a rock, the perfect size to barely fit in her mouth. Its jagged sides are coated with a slickness of blood.

“Throw it on the floor,” Dellert says. Zoey glances at Meeka, who has also removed her rock. She considers flinging the stone at Dellert’s head, but the chances of hitting him are slim to none—and it seems he can read her mind, for he jabs his finger at the floor. “Don’t you dare throw it either, bitch. Put it down.”

Zoey and Meeka drop the rocks at the same time, the sound of them striking the floor barely audible above the growl of equipment.

“Good girls,” Dellert says. His grin stretches the sutures on his face, and his tongue protrudes obscenely, touching his upper lip.

“You can’t do this,” Meeka says, taking a small step forward. “You’ll be executed for even touching us.” She spits a wad of blood onto the floor at Dellert’s feet, and he looks down at it before raising his eyes to them.

“You don’t know what I can do,” he replies. He takes a step forward and Baron follows him, the younger guard’s face tense with excitement.

“You’re insane. You’re both on camera taking us from our rooms. We’ll tell the Clerics and you’ll be dead before tomorrow,” Zoey says, forcing back the vomit that has gathered at the back of her throat.

“See that’s where you’re wrong, girlie,” Dellert says. “We’re friends with the guard that runs the cameras and it won’t be anything to get that little bit of video deleted. Especially since we promised him a turn next time.”

“You’re lying,” Zoey says, but even as the words leave her she remembers the information Lee gave her about Becker sleeping on his shift. If the man is that lackadaisical, perhaps his morals are as well.

“You know I’m not. I wouldn’t lie. I’m not like you, keeping contraband in my room.” The guard’s voice wavers as he motions to his injuries. “Do you know what the doctor told me? He said the scars will never go away. Never. I’ll have to look at them every time I shave or catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or window. I’ll have to remember the pain of your fingernails tearing my skin apart.” Zoey backs away as Dellert takes another step, but Meeka stays still, frozen by fear. “So it’s only fair that I give you something to remember, too. I’m going to screw you so hard you won’t walk right for a week.”

“I’ll tell Simon. He’ll kill you,” Zoey says, flicking her eyes to the right. A short length of steel pipe rests on the workbench beside a vise. It isn’t overly long, but it looks heavy. Heavy enough to break bones.

“Go ahead and tell him—no one will believe you when there’s no
video to back it up. It’s your word against ours. And you said so yourself—
we’d have to be insane to do something like this.” His dark eyes glint in the light as he advances another step.

Dellert is almost even with Meeka when Zoey shoots the pipe another quick glance. It will have to be perfect. If her hand slips or she stumbles, there won’t be another chance. Dellert stops several feet from Meeka, who hasn’t moved. He reaches out and tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

“Think I’ll warm up on you, though,” Dellert says to Meeka, his eyes swimming over her body. “I want to last longer when I punish your friend back there.” His hands drop to the zipper of his pants.

“Hey, you said she was mine, man,” Baron says in protest.

“You’ll take what you get or I’ll bust your teeth off in your head,” Dellert replies, without looking back. He continues to dig at his crotch and smiles as he takes another step forward.

Zoey lunges for the pipe.

She sees Dellert’s eyes widen but he only has a split second of surprise before Meeka moves as well.

Meeka, always so fast, faster than any of the other women no matter what the activity. No one has ever come close to beating her in a footrace, and Zoey doesn’t know how many times she’s seen her friend snatch a falling item out of the air with startling reflexes. But the speed at which she moves now defies reason.

Her foot flicks out in a light kick, perfectly aimed at the bottom of Dellert’s prod that hangs from his belt. The weapon shoots straight up out of its holder and hangs motionless for an instant between the small woman and the guard before Meeka snatches it and twirls it once. In one motion she depresses the button on its handle and jams it up into Dellert’s gaping mouth.

There is the droning crackle of electricity and blue light leaps from between Dellert’s lips. His eyes roll up to the whites and his long body jerks backward, arms and legs going rigid.

Zoey is stunned by the violent spectacle but manages to grasp the pipe from the bench as Dellert topples backward. He falls gracelessly and slams into the cold floor on his back. His slackened jaws clack together, and one hand curls into a spasming fist. Zoey steps forward, her eyes locked on Baron, who is openmouthed and frozen in place. She has to incapacitate him before he can draw his weapon. But as she tries to step over Dellert’s fallen form, Meeka shoulders past her and brings the prod down in a flash of black steel onto Dellert’s forehead.

Dellert’s skull crunches with the impact.

It’s a wet sound that carries over the noisy equipment, and Zoey sees why as gray mush spurts from a crevice of bone on the side of the guard’s skull. Meeka raises the prod and swings it again. Dellert’s head cracks wide open in a spray of red that speckles Zoey’s bare arms. Meeka brings up the dripping weapon and steps past the twitching corpse at her feet as loud explosions tear the air apart around them.

Zoey flinches, ducking involuntarily as several more blasts fill the aisle with flashing fire. She raises her eyes and sees Baron standing at the head of the corridor, his gun drawn, barrel smoking. Beside her, Meeka stumbles back, darkly wet blossoms appearing on the front of her shirt.

Zoey blinks, trying to reconcile the image, but there is only the pungent smell of gunpowder, the ringing in her ears, and the stillness of the moment. The single second hangs for an eternity before Meeka looks down at her shirt, then slowly crumples to the ground.

“Meeka!” Zoey screams, scuttling forward, all thoughts of the pipe gone as she drops it and crouches beside her friend. Meeka quivers on the floor, her slender neck trying to hold her head off the ground. Zoey reaches out to the front of her bloodied shirt that is becoming wetter by the second, but she stops her trembling hands inches from the gushing wounds, overwhelmed by the magnitude of blood. Instead she cups Meeka’s head and grasps her closest hand.

“Got him,” Meeka rasps. A small bubble of blood inflates at the corner of her mouth and pops.

“Don’t talk, you’re okay. I’m going to get you help.” Meeka closes her eyes and when she reopens them they are half as wide. Zoey shoots a glance at Baron who has inched forward, his arm still outstretched and holding the pistol. “Go get help!” Zoey yells, but the guard’s eyes are locked on Meeka and the spreading pool beneath her body.

“It’s okay,” Meeka whispers, wetting her lips with crimson. “It’s okay now. I’m . . .” She inhales a rattling breath partway and her eyelids flutter like a butterfly’s wings before stilling.

“Meeka? Meeka!” Zoey shakes her gently, but the other woman’s eyes are already glazed. Drying in the hot air. “No, no, no, no,” Zoey keens. There is something expanding inside her, an all-consuming pressure that forces out only sounds from her throat, no more words. She sobs, feeling the warmth of Meeka’s blood seep into the knees of her pants.

“Is she dead?” Baron asks. He’s standing near Meeka’s feet, the gun at his side. Zoey bares her teeth at him. She gently lowers Meeka’s head to the floor and glances at the pipe beside Dellert’s corpse. As she prepares to leap for the weapon, Baron raises the pistol and places its barrel in his mouth.

The report is muffled, much quieter than the prior shots, but Zoey still jerks with the sound. A dark shower erupts behind Baron’s head and he crumples to the floor limply. The handgun clatters once, landing only inches from her hand.

All is still.

Zoey stares down at the pistol, the tip of its barrel coated in red. The machines hum around her, and the scent of death permeates the air. She reaches out a hand and touches Meeka’s fingers. They are already cool.

A scream wells up inside her, and it’s all she can do to hold it back. The urge to simply lie down next to Meeka and stay there until someone finds her is strong, but even as her muscles slacken to do just that, her eyes fall on Dellert’s outstretched hand and the bracelet above it.

Zoey swallows a choking lump in her throat and stands. Her legs threaten to fail her, but she steadies them and moves to the nearest workbench. The wall behind it is lined with various small tools: screwdrivers, chisels, a rubber mallet. She reaches the end of the bench and stops, glancing toward the door to make sure she’s still alone. Something catches her attention on a shelf several yards away, its bulk partially hidden beneath a plastic drop cloth. She moves to it, pulling the shroud away before examining it for a moment. She grasps the tool and walks back to the aisle.