Tomorrow Land (27 page)

And now, because of him, Peyton might not make it to Disney in time for her tech to be salvaged. The kids wouldn’t have anyone to take care of them, and they would soon be nothing more than monster bait. In the end they’d all be dead. Darla, Sunshine, Red, the triplets, Starry and Torn.

And Peyton. Beautiful, determined, amazing Peyton.

He yanked against his bonds, only succeeding in drawing more blood. His wrists were raw, crimson bands of pain. Not exactly the best for fighting. Worse, he still craved drugs. His body burned for them, and the tickling in his stomach was a raging, all-out itch. It was like ants were crawling up and down his skin. He leaned his head over and threw up, splattering himself and his leather pants.

Well, he deserved to die. To be ripped apart and devoured by a mutated zombie. He deserved for his death to be slow. To feel every rip and tear of flesh, to hear every crunch of bone. If only it could be for a good cause instead of just the natural end to his stupidity.
Oh, Peyton, I’m so sorry I let you down even though I promised I never would.

God, you’re pathetic!

He opened his eyes as a voice in his head rebuked him, the words echoing through his skull. It sounded like… Tank?

Be a man for once in your life,
his dead brother scolded.

You don’t understand,
Chase argued.
I’m not you. I’m not strong. And right now I’m trapped. There’s no way I can escape this.

Not with that attitude you can’t. But as far as I can see, you’re not dead yet. Which means you still have a chance. So buck up, stop living in your private theater of fear, and do something useful for once in your life.

He swallowed hard and nodded fiercely. Imaginary Tank was right. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. Which meant he had a chance. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

A burly man wearing a stained wife-beater tank top and cut-offs, carrying a whip, entered the room. He approached Chase. “You ready, boy?” he asked, then cackled to himself. “This should be a quick fight,” he added, eyeing his prisoner up and down. “Pretty boy against our biggest baddie.” He grabbed Chase’s face in his meaty hands, as a grandma might while her pinching her grandson’s cheeks.

Chase spat.

The guard bellowed in rage and struck him. The force of the open-palmed blow against his cheek almost sent Chase swimming into blackness, but he held his own and met the guard’s eyes again, giving him his most defiant look. If he was going to go down, it’d be by a zombie, not some random human.

“So we going to fight, or are you just going to give me googly eyes all night?” he said in his cockiest voice.

Another slap. It stung, but at the same time the violence was revving Chase up. The pain was spiking his adrenaline, and he was suddenly raring to go.

“Hey, what’s taking so long?” another guard asked, stepping into the room.

“Little punk spit in my face,” the first man growled.

“Aw, poor baby. Did he get you all wet?” the second guard scoffed. “Toro is getting impatient. Get him out there.”

The first guard grunted but did as he was told. He whipped out a filthy rag and used it as a blindfold before unchaining his prisoner. Chase felt his bonds fall away, and a moment later he was pushed forward. He stumbled as best he could toward what he supposed was the main pit of The Thunderdome.

A few moments later the blindfold was ripped from his eyes and he had to blink a few times to adjust to the light. He could hear the crowd roar before he saw them, and at first he believed they were cheering for him. Then his eyes adjusted and he saw the Other. It was the biggest, nastiest Other he’d ever seen. Snarling, drooling and smacking its lips, the creature started toward him.

Chase squared his shoulders. Okay, here went nothing.
For Peyton
, he said to himself.
I’ll win this for her.

*

“Okay, first you need to change,” Helga instructed. “They have to think you’re one of them, and let’s just say that leather suit is not going to cut it.”

Peyton looked down at her outfit. As much as she didn’t want to waste any more time, Helga was likely right. The leather was practical for her purposes, but it would look out of place in a town full of people pretending things were normal. And she imagined this society didn’t get many acceptable visitors.

“Right,” she said. “Well, let’s grab something quick so we can go.”

Helga considered for a moment. “We can’t go back to my place,” she said. “Luke might be there. We’ll hit up one of the stores. A lot of them still have clothing.” She scanned the street, then motioned to a place on the corner. “Maybe there’s something in there. It’s one of my favorites, and not many people know it.”

They crossed the street and entered what was once a boutique, stepping through the broken glass door. Peyton adjusted her lenses to compensate for the dark and looked around. For “not many people knowing it,” the place was pretty ransacked, clothes ripped from racks and strewn everywhere. The jewelry counter was smashed and most of its contents were long gone.

“The Society is pretty intense when it comes to clothes,” Helga explained. “So a lot of the good stuff is probably taken. But I’m sure we can find…” She reached down to the ground and pulled up a slinky, bright purple halter-top dress. “What size are you?”

Peyton shrugged. “Four?” she said. “God, it’s been a billion years since I went shopping.”

Helga nodded. “Try this then.” She handed the dress to Peyton and gestured to a dressing room. “Don’t worry, we have plenty of time. They train them before they make them fight. He’s just a prisoner. In no danger for a few days at least.”

“Okay,” Peyton said, feeling a little relieved. She still didn’t like to think of him jailed, but if he wasn’t in any immediate danger, it’d be better to take this slowly and surely. Not make any stupid mistakes.

She stepped into the tiny room behind the torn curtain that once served as a dressing room for the boutique and slipped off her leather pants and shirt, praying this wasn’t another trap. How did she know Helga wasn’t just like her boyfriend: a scout, looking for new recruits? But then she reminded herself of Helga’s desperate eyes and bruised body. No, the girl really needed an escape from Paradise, and Peyton was likely the only one who could provide it.

Still, she kept one ear cocked as she slid into the dress. It felt creamy smooth, soft and cool against her skin. It would have once cost a fortune. She hadn’t worn something so elegant in… well, maybe forever. After all, it wasn’t like she’d gotten to go to prom. She pulled the straps behind her neck and tied them in a bow, then examined herself in the mirror. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at her reflection. She looked good. Really good. Feminine. Even taking into account her ocular implants. The dress clung to her every curve, and it scooped low in front to show off her cleavage. She looked like something out of an old Hollywood movie—and not a zombie one, either.

Her first thought was: Wow, wait until Chase sees me in this. Her second thought was how silly she was being, how vain, caring about something so shallow and irrelevant. Who cared what Chase thought about how she looked in a dress? But Peyton cared, whether she wanted to or not.

Stepping out of the dressing room, she realized Helga had also changed clothes—into a little black-sequined number, long sleeves effectively hiding her bruises. She’d pulled her dreadlocks back into a ponytail and dabbed on a little lip gloss. She actually looked very pretty. She was packing things into a big bag, and she took Peyton’s leather clothes without looking and stuffed them inside, too.

When she turned to look at Peyton, she whistled. “Wow. You look great.”

Peyton felt her face heat and tried to laugh it off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said.

“I’m serious. You should make sure to take that dress with you and wear it afterward. I bet your boyfriend would love it.”

Peyton finally decided to correct her. “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend.”

“Ah,” Helga said. But it didn’t seem like she was buying it.

Once their outfits were complete, they headed out of the store and back onto the street. Helga took Peyton to a scooter and instructed she get on the back. Soon they were flying down the road, the bike’s front headlight illuminating the way. Over the roar of the wind, Helga explained that one of the benefits of being a member of this society was a minimum ration of energy each month. Much of it was gasoline siphoned from stations in a fifty-mile radius and brought back to Paradise in barrels. Most people used their rations to fill scooters like this.

Peyton nodded, barely listening. Her mind was focused on Chase. Even though she knew he wasn’t in immediate danger, she didn’t like the idea of him being trapped, especially when he had no idea the cavalry was on its way.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked Helga over the roar of the bike. “I mean, they aren’t going to let us just waltz in there and let him out, right?”

Helga laughed. “Well, sort of,” she said. “I know one of the guards. And I have some of Luke’s stuff. Some of his
good
stuff.”

“This guard wants drugs? Won’t he get in trouble?”

“With the stuff I’ll give him, he won’t care.”

Once again, Peyton was grateful she’d run into Helga. “Thanks,” she said. “I really owe you for this.”

“It’s fine. Just get me far away from this place and we’re square.”

They turned another corner, entering a parking lot near the stadium Peyton had seen from the interstate. Helga pulled the scooter into a spot and killed the engine. They got off the bike and she motioned to a police station across the way. “That’s the place,” she explained. “Come on, let’s go.”

The station was run down but clean, evidently having been given a good recent spit and polish, in contrast with the thick layers of dust they’d encountered in other parts of the town. There were working lights, although they looked like they ran on a backup generator. Peyton assumed most of the population of this society lived on the other side of the stadium.

It was an odd feeling to step inside a place and feel like it was lived in. Peyton adjusted her implants for the indoor lighting and scanned the room. A burly man dressed in a uniform sat behind a small desk, picking his fingernails with a knife. Peyton sized him up, wanting to have some sort of contingency plan if Helga’s connections—and currency—weren’t as good as she claimed. He was big, she assessed, but meaty rather than muscled. She would likely be okay, push come to shove, as long as he didn’t have some big gun hidden under the counter. And her enhancements didn’t go haywire again…

Helga sidled up to the desk and sat on it, hiking up her skirt and batting her eyelashes. Total silliness, Peyton thought at first, then realized that in a small post-apocalyptic society like Paradise, the ratio of pretty girls to desperate men was probably pretty high. Sure enough, the guard reacted instantly, his beefy face turning tomato red. He rose to his feet and walked around the desk.

“Hey, baby,” he said, reaching over to hug Helga. Peyton watched the blonde slide her body up against him. In another world, she could have been a stripper. Maybe she once was; who knew? “Where you been all my life?”

“Aw, Huggie, don’t be saying that!” Helga cooed. “You know you haven’t given me a second thought since I left.”

Huggie looked offended. “Are you kidding?” he said, sounding incredulous. “I’ve thought of nothing but you for two weeks, when you last you waltzed your pretty little butt in here.” He smacked her lightly on the aforementioned body part and she giggled, stretching up to kiss his bald forehead.

“You’re so sweet,” she purred. “I thought of you, too, Huggie Bear. I thought about you a lot.”

“So, who’s your friend?” Huggie asked, giving Peyton the once-over. She could tell he wasn’t as impressed with her as with Helga. Guess he didn’t like the look of her cybernetic implants. She supposed that was probably for the best, though she didn’t like the reminder that even in a pretty dress, she was still a freak.

“Oh, this is Peyton,” Helga said. “She’s my dear friend, and we’re hoping you’ll be able to do us a huge, huge favor.”

“Anything for a friend of yours, baby,” Huggie reassured her, putting his hand on her waist. “Name it.”

Helga gave a tiny grin, and hope rose inside Peyton. Who would have expected this rescue to be this easy? She’d figured there’d be a fight, at the very least. Maybe a dangerous escape. But no; it seemed like it was just a matter of making a deal. She’d have Chase back, good as new.

 “You guys have a new pit fighter,” Helga said. “Luke picked him up last night. His name’s Chase.”

Huggie nodded. “Yeah. He’s sharing a cell with Bowie. Did you see the Bowster last week? That was some stellar fight. I gotta say, he’s a killer. From now on, when he’s back in the ring, I’m putting my money on him every time.”

“Oh yeah, baby, he’s amazing,” Helga crooned. “But Chase. We’re talking about Chase. We’re hoping we can make a little deal for him. I brought you some real good stuff—” She started to reach into her purse.

“Sorry, no can do,” Huggie said, stopping her.

She frowned, glossy lips puffed out in a pout. “Why not?” she asked. “I thought you said you’d do us a favor, Huggie Bear.”

“Baby, you know I’d do anything for you,” Huggie assured her, clucking her under the chin. “But the guy’s not here. They took him to the ‘dome.”

“What?” Peyton cried, unable to stop herself. “I thought you said they’d train him first!” Fear pounded in her heart as she digested what was happening. Chase had been thrown into a ring and was being forced to fight a zombie while they’d wasted time trying on clothes?

Huggie shrugged. “Their scheduled fighter, Rumble, went and offed himself last night, so they needed a last-minute replacement. Guess Rumble didn’t think too much of his odds and wanted to take the easy way out.” He laughed.

“What time’s the fight?” Helga asked, her face also white.

“Probably about now. If you hurry, you might catch it. Though it’s bound to be quick. I heard the odds are like one-thousand-to-one on the new guy. They’re putting him in with Toro, after all.”