Tomorrow Land (19 page)

She nodded. “That may not be a bad idea,” she said. “If things get really bad.”

“But who knows?” he said, forcing himself to sound cheerful. “By this time next month we could be laughing about the whole thing.”

She smiled ruefully. “I hope you’re right,” she said. “But for some reason, I don’t think it’ll be that funny.”

Chris pulled her close and kissed the top of her head in the most reassuring way he could. But truth be told, neither did he.

Chapter Twenty

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Peyton cried as blood streamed between Chase’s fingers, splashing onto the ground. She’d cut him. How badly? “I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean…”

Her mind flashed back to what he’d said as they first walked into Walmart. No doctors. No hospitals. A single scratch could be a death sentence.

“Damn!” Chase swore under his breath. “That flecking stings.”

“Let me see,” she commanded, retracting her razors. “I need to know how bad it is.”

Chase obediently removed his fingers from the wound. It was impossible to tell how deep the cut was with all that blood. Peyton looked around at the children—they were all still asleep, thank goodness; she didn’t need to deal with freaked-out kids on top of everything else. She rushed quietly inside the motel room behind them. Grabbing a couple washcloths, she came back and pressed one against Chase’s wound. He twitched but didn’t cry out.

After a moment, she pulled the bloody cloth away. “I think you might need stitches,” she said, eyeing the cut. It was long, though thankfully not deep. Apparently the razors had been at a shallow angle.

“Great.” His face was pale. His lips trembled. Obviously he was in a lot of pain, even if he wasn’t comfortable showing it. “Just great.”

“It’s okay. My mom taught me how to stitch wounds. She was a nurse before she had me. I can sew you up,” she assured him. “Where’s that first-aid kit?”

He motioned to one of the supply bags a few feet away. She handed him back the washcloth and he held it against his face. “Be right back,” she said.

Scrambling to her feet, she headed over to the bags and began her search for the med kit. What an idiot she’d been. Playing with fire. For one brief moment she’d forgotten who she was. Not an innocent teenage girl, experiencing first love all over again, but a soldier. A killing machine, thanks to her father. And anyone who came between her and her mission ran the risk of bodily harm, whether by her choice or not.

Whatever happened, she couldn’t allow herself to touch Chase again. He was better off without her, even if he didn’t realize it.

But, oh, that kiss. That kiss.

Her mouth still felt a bit bruised, and she was sure her face was flushed bright red. She licked her lips, remembering how it felt to have his mouth on hers, tasting her as if she were some gourmet treat and he’d been banned from the dessert bar for a thousand years.

Come on, Peyton! The guy’s bleeding to death over there, and all you can think of is kissing him? What would your mother say? What would your
father
say?

She found the first-aid kit and headed back to where he sat. Pulling out her supplies, she handed him a vial of antiseptic and some gauze, then instructed him to clean the cut. He complied, cringing at the sting of alcohol on the wound. In the meantime, she threaded her needle and, grabbing a stick from the fire, brushed the flame across it: a makeshift sterilization, the best she could come up with on short notice.

“How are you doing?” she asked, half-afraid of his answer.

“Fine,” he replied through clenched teeth.

He didn’t look fine to her. In fact, he looked like he was going to pass out at any second. He was paying big-time for her stupid mistake. A part of her wondered if he’d thought the kiss was worth it, but then she scolded herself for being ridiculous. More than likely he was regretting he’d ever run into her.

 “God, I’m so sorry,” she found herself saying again. As if repeated apologies would make the skin meld back together and magically heal. “I never meant to… Oh, never mind.” She quit talking. What good would it do anyway? And besides, there would be time for apologies later. Right now she needed to focus. She needed to get him sewn up before he lost any more blood.

“Um, one second,” he said as she readied herself to start stitching, reaching into his pocket. She watched as he withdrew some kind of prescription bottle. What were those pills, and why did he have them? But he didn’t explain. Just said, “This should help,” as he popped the cap with his teeth and tossed back a few pills. Swallowing, he removed the bloody washcloth from his cheek. “Fix me,” he said, closing his eyes.

And so she fixed him. Carefully, so as to not hurt him any more than necessary, she stitched the cut closed. Each time she jabbed the needle into his flesh, his body trembled a little. But through it all he stayed silent, brave, solid, only his clenched jaw and the beads of sweat on his forehead giving any indication as to his pain.

It didn’t take long, and the bleeding subsided. The cut looked nasty and he’d probably have a scar. But as long as the cut didn’t get infected, everything should be okay. Maybe they could find a hospital in a neighboring town, find some heavier duty antibiotics than the ones in the first-aid kit, the topical salve she was currently applying.

“I’m done,” she informed him, then realized he couldn’t hear her. He was out for the count, completely passed out. Was it from the pain? Or the drugs he’d just taken? Either way, she guessed it was probably for the best. She dabbed his sweaty forehead with another washcloth, then sank down beside him, wondering what she should do now. They had talked about sharing night-watch duties, but she doubted he was in any state to handle them at the moment. And he wasn’t going to be much help moving the kids into the motel room.

Chase groaned and shifted, his head dropping onto her shoulder. Lost in sleep, he looked like a little boy, his mouth twisted in unconscious anguish.

She wondered if pain was chasing him through his dreams. Against her better judgment, she reached over and stroked his head, trying to soothe him into a more restful sleep. She shouldn’t have cared. She should have risen to her feet and left him there, stopped herself from getting emotionally involved. She should have carried each of the children inside the motel to a better protected spot. But she found she couldn’t, and instead she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling each silky smooth strand. Chase thrashed a final time, then fell still, unconsciously cuddling against her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

It was too tender. Too poignant. She should remove his hand. Stand up. Walk away. But she didn’t. She just sat there, willing herself to stay awake, praying they wouldn’t have any unwanted visitors. Some tough girl she was. Her father would be so proud.

*

Trapped in the strong grip of the drugs, Chase swam from nightmare to nightmare, chased by flesh-eating zombies who’d soon catch up to him and tear him apart, limb from limb, only to put him back together and start all over again.

At last he woke, suddenly, dripping in cold sweat, and for a moment he wasn’t sure where he was. Then it all came back to him. Peyton. The kiss. The searing pain that interrupted that kiss as she’d sliced his cheek open with one of her razors.

He couldn’t help laughing, albeit hysterically. Now he knew how the Others felt, why that first one ran so fast after experiencing her wrath. Reaching up, he touched his cheek, surprised when his fingers found tiny stitches striping the cut. Then he remembered the rest. She’d sewn him up. She’d stopped the bleeding and likely saved his life.

“You’re awake,” she remarked. He looked over, surprised that she was sitting beside him, awake herself. His little Florence Nightingale. The moonlight reflected off her ocular implants, and her face was illuminated. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said she was beautiful, and he had to fight the urge not to start kissing her all over again, to remind himself that beauty was also a beast.

“Yeah,” he said, stretching his hands over his head. “Barely.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean…”

He waved her off. “My fault,” he said. “I got carried away. Pushed you too far. You were just… you were just saying no—in your own special way.”

She snorted softly. “That’s one way to look at it.”

He wanted to protest, tell her it wasn’t his fault—that she had been just too damn irresistible, staring at him like that with her beautiful, sweet face, bright from the fire’s glow. The way her body had melted against his, the way her mouth had pressed up against his own. He was only human after all.

Feeling warm and cozy, he reached out with his hand, only meaning to squeeze her own. But, to his surprise, she jerked away as if she’d been shocked. He looked at her, questioningly, not sure what he’d done to upset her.

“I think it’s best if we just… stay friends from now on,” she said quietly, staring into the fire and refusing to meet his eyes. “The rest… it was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. After all, I have my mission. I can’t afford to be distracted.” She looked over at him. “And you, Chase Parker, are a big distraction.” And with that pronouncement, she rose to her feet and walked quickly into the motel room, closing the door behind her and leaving him alone with the sleeping children.

He stared at the closed door, not sure what had just happened. One moment they’d been cuddling. The next, she’d fled the scene. Hurt and confusion swirled through his brain as he replayed her words over again. A distraction. Was that really all he was to her? A distraction to her real mission? Just getting in the way of what she was after? He scowled. That was cold, even for her.

His mind flashed back to that day in the rain. When she chose her father over him. In a way, he realized, nothing had changed. She was still choosing her father, her Disney destination. And he was only a distraction, once again, to her ultimate end game.

His confusion dipped into anger. Whatever. She didn’t want him? That was fine. He wasn’t going to chase her anymore. He’d already done that once. He’d already waited in the rain. He’d already suffered his disappointment. He was no longer that boy. He would no longer wait.

She didn’t want him? Well, then he didn’t want her either.

He grabbed the bottle of pills and popped the cap once again, ready for sleep.

Chapter Twenty-one

“Dad, Dad!” Peyton cried as she took the basement steps two at a time. “Dad, are you down here?”

The workshop door swung open and Ian rushed out, looking concerned. He closed and locked it behind him. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, studying her. “What happened?”

She buried her face in his chest, searching for comfort and reassurance from the man who’d sired her. Her mom hadn’t been home. “Oh, Dad, it was awful,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “I still can’t believe it.”

He led her over to the weight bench and sat her down. “Take a breath,” he instructed. “Then tell me everything.”

“We went to Mt. Holyoke Hospital,” she said. “And there were guards with machine guns. They wouldn’t let us in. So we snuck around back and looked in the windows. There are so many sick people, Dad,” she said, choking on the lump in her throat. “The place is overflowing.”

Her dad nodded. “Yes,” he said. “This Super Flu
is
real. And it
is
a big deal. The government’s not going to be able to contain word of it much longer, no matter how they censor the media.” If Peyton didn’t know better, she’d think he looked pleased at the idea.

“But that’s not the worst of it,” she sniffled. “There was this… trash compactor, I guess. And we looked inside. And there were bodies. So many bodies.” She broke down again.

Her father pulled her close and she sobbed into his chest. “Shh,” he said. “Remember what I told you. When the apocalypse comes, we’ll be safe. I’ve made preparations. Every day I’m making more. We’re going to be fine. You’re not going to get sick. I can one hundred percent guarantee that.”

She wasn’t sure how that was possible, but she was too concerned with the next part of her story to get off track. “That’s not the worst thing,” she said, pulling away and looking her dad in the eye.

He scrunched up his face. “What do you mean?” He sounded concerned for the first time in their conversation.

She took one deep breath, swallowed, then another. “There was something else in the trash compactor,” she said. “Some kind of… I don’t know. You’re going think I’m crazy.”

He grabbed her shoulders with his hands so hard that she cried out, startled. “Tell me,” he said, his eyes wide.

She shook her head. “I don’t know exactly. It was like… like… a monster.”

Her father dropped his hands, released her, and turned. “Where was this again?” he asked. “Mt. Holyoke?”

Peyton nodded weakly. “But I don’t know if it’s a good idea to—”

But her dad was already unlocking the door to his lab and disappearing inside. A moment later he returned, pistol in his hand. Peyton’s eyes widened. She’d had no idea her dad even owned a firearm. It certainly wasn’t legal. Not after the Firearms Act of ‘18.

“I’m going to check it out,” he told her. “You stay here. No matter what happens, do not leave the house until I get back.”

If she’d been scared before, she was petrified now. “What is it, Dad?” she asked. “Do you know?”

“No,” Ian said, heading up the stairs. “But I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

*

“Trey, Trey!” Chris cried, touching his brother on the shoulder, trying to rouse him from his sim-induced torpor. “I gotta talk to you.”

Trey pulled off his VR goggles and looked at him, annoyed. “Guy,” he said. “You know better than to interrupt a man in a sim. I was in the middle of… well, I was in the middle of that sim I loaned you. You never checked it out, and damn if you shouldn’t be sorry.”

“I
am
sorry,” Chris said. He sat down on the floor. “But I gotta tell you something.”

“Something more important than the Paperdoll Ms. March 2030?”