When The Light Goes Out (17 page)

Brown eyes rested on me for a moment, as the boy ran his hand through his honey locks. I personally thought he was considering what he should say. But as far as I knew for sure he was trying to figure out which way led to the portable electronic games.

"He was way more skilled then we were, and we survived. No?"

"Mmhmm.." I made the affirmative noise in the back of my throat, trying to follow his train of thought.

"If we, completely unskilled, scared, and otherwise useless kids managed to survive a surprise attack without any weapons, then he with his two guns could be just fine right now. I think there's a very good chance that he made it out okay. A very, very good chance."

Ian's thought process certainly made sense to me then. Thinking of it that way, I actually agreed with him. We two fools managed to make it out alive, so Malachi was probably perfectly safe. And I still didn't know why I was worried about him. I still didn't understand why I wanted him back with us.

No.

I'm lying.

I did know why I wanted him back with us.

Malachi was a cruel, selfabsorbed, bastard who would probably sell his own mother if he needed to. But he made me feel incredibly safe while I was with him. Part of me wondered if he knew. Part of me absolutely doubted that he knew. Part of me didn't care if he did or not. He was mean. He threatened to kill me. But I was very sure that he wouldn't let my fate fall to the hands, and teeth, of the vicious man eaters at least if it wasn't by his doing.

He was mean, cruel, and self centered but apparently, even to him, a life was a life. No amount of badgering could have gotten me to jump out a window, to save someone I didn't know from a group of zombies, if I didn't want to myself. So I couldn't bring myself to honestly believe he'd let anyone die (without purpose, perhaps) in such a horrid way. Not me, not anyone else. I just couldn't think of anyone quite that horrible. Outside of the cinema I mean. Once in those theaters, all bets were off, and there was no positive answer until the very end.

"I'm worried about him too, Excel." It was encouraging to know.

"Given he's alive, what do you think he's doing right now?" I couldn't help the question, and grinned over at the boy, working with a more positive train of thought. He was alive, and he was up to something. But, of everything he could be doing, what?

"Getting laid." I sputtered.

"Hey, it's what I'd be doing!" Ian called defensively when he saw the look on my face an expression of shock mixed horror. More so at the fact that he admitted such a thing then the action he spoke of.

"Don't want to die a virgin?" "Look who's talking."

I sputtered again, this time glaring. I had half a mind to attack the boy, but restrained myself. The negative thoughts, and mean plans weren't helping anyone. Not my allies, not myself. But I swung an open palm at his shoulder regardless smacking him as soundly as I could without hurting him.

Bastard cringed anyway. "Wimp."

"You hit hard." "Girly man." "You hit
hard!
" "Weakling."

"Cut out the Terminator accent already!" Ah, finally he noticed.

The terrible accent was one that I could see surviving for centuries. It was just that bad, and perfect for lightening up the most dismal situations. I could clearly remember hearing it used over, and over again during various problems, and could recognize it in a heartbeat, although I'd never seen any of the movies. They were just so old. With the newest special effects, I wasn't so sure I could stomach them.

"But it's so appropria-"

"No it's not, stop lying to yourself, Excel."

I laughed then, and more or less slid down the shelf to the floor. Not so sure what else I could do. I had three choices. Go back to the group, wander away, or do exactly as I was. I

just happened to follow my choice by leaning against Ian's legs, with the smallest sigh I could manage. "When'd life get so hard?"

"When cannibalism became the new fad."

"Pleasant." I couldn't deny the truth in the statement. "But why?" "Because karma hates us."

"Works for me."

But it didn't work for me, didn't work for anyone. It especially didn't work for those who became an after dinner snack, so I didn't know why I was complaining. No, no. I did know why I was complaining. I was complaining because their problems weren't mine no matter how much I wished I could solve them. I had to look out for myself first and foremost.

Everyone has the right to be a little selfish. So I wanted to complain.

Big deal.

I couldn't figure out why I was feeling so bad about it.

I couldn't figure out why I was lying to myself constantly. I really didn't want to make a habit out of it.

"Ian, I"

"Ye love birds are 'avin' fun, eh?"

"Blaz." The name came out more as growl, unfortunately. I hadn't meant for it to. But it did. At the same time, I didn't mean for my eyes to narrow or my upper lip to curl up into something sort of like a snarl. But, all of it did.

Needless to say that old man, with the white hair, and sparkling blue eyes wiped the expression off my face. I simply couldn't believe it. I raised a hand to my throbbing cheek slowly, grateful that I felt no tears well up in my eyes. I took the hit, and only entertained the thought of torturing the man until he begged for death for a moment.

"Blaz! What the hell did you do that for?!"

"Stay out of this, lad. The brat was givin' me a look. Ye won't be treatin' me like that, ye won't. I won't allow it. I deserve me respect as much as that Dustin does and ye appear rather fond of the man, Excel."

"Ever hear of earning respect?" "Excuse me?"

I felt Ian staring down at me, in shock perhaps. Maybe he couldn't believe that I was actually keeping my cool, that I wasn't cursing and throwing a fit. Maybe he was shocked that I

spoke the words I did.

I was sure as hell shocked.

But there was no way in the fiery pits of hell I'd take back what I said.

"Losing your hearing, old man?" I asked, rather callously. Staring the old timer down as I did so. I decided to say the words syllable for syllable. Slowly. "Ever
hear
of
earn
ing

re
spec
t
?"

There was a sudden fire burning behind those eyes. I was almost happy I put it there.

"Yer parents never taught ye much about manners did they?" "Leave my parents out of this."

"Nope, they never did. If they had ye'd know not to speak to people of me generation that way. Yer elders. We deserve more respect." "My parents certainly taught me better than yours taught you."

I didn't flinch at the raised hand. Instead I rose to my feet, staring straight into the man's eyes with a fire of my own. I was actually, secretly hoping that my glare would bake his brain from the inner most crevices out. But I would never admit that to an audience.

"Hit me again,
sir
, and you'll have an enemy you'll soon regret making." "Is that a threat ye snot nosed rascal?"

"A threat. A Promise. A warning. Whatever bakes your cookies,
sir
."

The look we exchanged could melt ice, and freeze alcohol. It was the perfect mixed of feigned cold indifference, and white hot anger. Him at me, me at him. Both of us at the audacity of the other. Somewhere between the time we first met and now, the number of insults whether real or imagined reached an indescribable level. I was furious with the man, and I couldn't quite figure out why. I never got quite so heated over being slapped.

Maybe it was his holier than thou attitude. Yes.

Yes, that had to be it. "Now, guys.."

I managed to block Ian's voice out after his beginning words. I knew he was going to try to stop whatever was going to happen, but immature little ol' me wanted to see the outcome of whatever did happen. I wanted to know who'd win, who'd land the first punch.

Was it pitiful to want to hit an old man? Was it pitiful to wonder if you'd win or not? "Enough!"

Somewhere along the way Ian had called Dustin to break up the fight before it started. I was only a little ashamed that I jumped when he yelled, but I consoled myself with the thought that Blaz flinched as well. Maybe neither of us were expecting it. I surely wasn't. The frantic look in Blaz's eyes told me that he probably hadn't been.

Made me feel better.

"No, Dustin." I was sure I'd regret my words. "No. Let him do whatever he was going to do." "What, Dustin? Afraid yer little friends face is going to get broken in?"

"Afraid he's going to break his hand trying?" "You're both acting like children."

"That one over there is a child." "Look who's talking."

"Enough!" "
No!
"

The tension was palpable, almost frighteningly so. I could feel the old man's anger, just as I knew mine was obvious. I wanted him dead, and gone. Screw allies, and to hell with trying to be nice. I didn't know what he wanted to happen to me. But whatever it was, I wanted it to happen soon, because I didn't want my life resting in the hands of a man with a grudge.

I could see it now. Taste it.

Smell it. Feel it.

Death, I was sure, wasn't a pleasant thing.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

To the very end...

He just sat there, staring at his hands as chunks of fine hair fluttered toward the ground. He wanted to die. He'd worked so hard to grow his hair out. Dealing with the scorn of his parents, the looks from his classmates former friends. He never quite understood what was wrong with having long hair, but there was something, because some of them just refused to speak to him when he'd missed his third hair cut.

they said he was changing.

He hadn't been, if you want honesty.

He'd waited eighteen years to grow his hair.

He didn't want to think that it was all for naught. "Hey."

He found himself staring into a pair of black pits. Well within the mindset that eyes weren't really black he was staring into a pair of extremely dark brown pits. Nevertheless he was staring straight into them, because the girl was in his face, touching his cheek, rubbing his arm. Like he needed comfort or something. Like he was being emotionally scarred with every inch of hair he lost.

"Hi."

"You okay, kiddo?"

"I'd be better if the group of you would stop calling me kiddo." "What should we call you then?"

The boy outright pouted at her, and turned his head away, only to get it gently set back into place by Jared the man with the scissors. A quiet warning to be careful, it wouldn't help to pull his hair, unless he wanted a jagged cut, he'd be better off zoning the girl out. Comments were muttered from the background, one of which offended the girl to the point that she glared, and nearly dove over the prone boy at the man behind him.

"Serena!"

One could swear she froze midair when Billy snapped her name. He didn't raise his voice much above speaking level, but said it so sharply that it made every person of the younger generation in the room shiver. Including the new comer. Who was refusing to give his name just on principle. One could say he'd been kidnapped. Considering they weren't letting him leave. He'd asked. He would have begged if his dignity didn't stop the effort halfway there. They'd said no anyway.

He couldn't remember what happened next.

The greatest injustice in the world was completed in that moment. He had his hair chopped up to the bottom of his ears. For the first time, in a long time, he wanted almost wanted to cry. It was a violation. A total and complete violation. Sort of like the time his father tried to go at his pony tail with the carving knife during Christmas dinner when he was nineteen.

He still had trouble eating chicken.

"You okay?" The brunet was leaning in front of him, a small, innocent smile in place. But he couldn't grin back at Luke. He didn't want to, even if the boy did look sincerely concerned. He must have looked downright miserable to create that look. "You don't look okay."

"You're little buddy over there just chopped off about six inches." "I realize this."

"Six inches." "So?"

"I could deal with one, maybe two. Six. Six inches. I look like an idiot now." "You haven't even seen yourself."