A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena - Страница 38
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I want to be something worth fighting for.
“Seriously, guys,” Ali calls. “We’re supposed to be examples, not reenacting porn.”
The two leap apart. Jaclyn even slaps Gavin across the face, though the action lacks any kind of force. “Pervert! Don’t come near me again.”
“Don’t worry,” he sneers, rubbing his cheek. “I’ll wait until you beg me for it. Again.”
“You’ll be waiting forever.” Jaclyn storms out of the room.
Gavin glares at Ali. “As usual, cupcake, your timing sucks.” He walks over and bumps fists with Bronx, who then takes a post against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You can make everything up to me by telling me you and princess are about to oil-wrestle.”
“How about I tell you the truth instead? After Milla runs the treadmill for half an hour, you’re going to be our test dummy and she’s going to practice using her new abilities. Congrats!”
“I’m not sure how we’re still friends.” He sets one of the treadmills to the highest incline. “But at least I’m your favorite.”
“I don’t have a favorite man-friend.” Ali smiles sweetly at him. “I dislike you all equally. Now hush.”
I snicker, liking this girl more every time she opens her mouth.
Gavin focuses on me and arches a brow. “You got something to say to me, princess?”
“Yeah. Why did I get the name princess? And do you realize you’re a douche-canoe?”
He waves his arms in the air, as if he’s the last sane man in the universe. “What’s with the chicks in the place, man? They spit on my best moves.”
“These are your best moves?” I climb onto the treadmill. “How sad for you.”
His eyes twinkle merrily as he presses the on button. “I hope you enjoy this. I know I will.”
The machine lifts to its highest incline, the belt at my feet churning faster and faster, until I’m sprinting. Soon sweat is beading over my entire body, my chest and thighs burning. But it’s a burn I welcome. I’m used to working out daily. Before saving zombies became a thing—a practice I’m not sure I’ll ever willingly support—an out-of-shape slayer was a dead slayer.
“By the way. I’m making you run for a reason.” Ali moves beside the machine. “I want to exhaust you so that only the barest power remains active. That way, if any of your new abilities go haywire, you’ll cause less damage to yourself and others.”
Makes sense. Normally I can run at this speed and this incline for an hour and still do a few victory laps around the room. Today, not so much. By the end of the half hour, I’m drenched in sweat and shaky, wheezing for breath.
Ali throws me a jug of water. I reach, but I’m as slow as molasses now and it soars past me. Dang. I give chase and drain the contents, the cool liquid heaven to my abused body.
“All right. Phase one complete. Time for phase two, where we kick things up a notch. Gavin, Milla, climb into the ring and stand there and there.” Ali points to two spots on the matt. “Gavin, you’re going to play the part of mindless zombie, so just act like yourself.” Looking at me, she says, “Milla, you’re playing the part of determined slayer. Run to him and light up.”
Run? Moaning, I set the empty water jug on the bench next to the row of lockers. My legs scream in protest as I climb over the ropes to join Gavin inside.
“Shouldn’t we take a cookie break first?”
“What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?” He waves his fingers at me. “Let’s do this.”
“Stop using words. Mindless grunts only,” Ali calls.
“Bra-a-a-ains,” he says in a singsong voice.
“Better.” I jog toward him—it’s all my thousand-pound limbs can manage—and push my spirit out of my body at the halfway point. I summon dynamis, something I’ve done a million times, even while exhausted, but nothing happens. Not even a flicker.
He tsks. “If I was a zombie, you’d already be dinner.”
I check my internal faith-o-meter. It’s full. I know I can do this. So...what’s the prob?
“Come on. Do it again,” Ali commands.
I turn my hands over in the light, part of me expecting to see the flames I don’t feel. If I can’t fire up, I can’t kill zombies. If I can’t kill zombies, I might as well curl up and die. It’s all I’m good at—all I’m good for.
Okay, so maybe my faith-o-meter isn’t actually full. Fear is a drain and it can empty an ocean of faith in seconds.
“Again,” Ali repeats.
I’m fighting for breath as I backtrack. Calm. Steady. I can do this. I know I can do this.
Again, Gavin waves his fingers. I jog toward him, every cell in my body willing dynamis to come...but once again the flames fail to appear.
“Again.”
I remain in place. What’s wrong with me? Why is this happening? I’m the same girl I’ve always been. The only difference is the toxin now swimming through my—
The toxin!
“Tiffany!” A bomb of rage detonates inside me, just boom, and bolts of emotion explode out of me. I stumble back as if I’ve been pushed, heat consuming me in an instant.
“Milla,” Gavin shouts. “Enough! You have to stop.”
His voice sounds as if it’s being filtered through a long tunnel. I turn toward him, but he’s not standing where he was—because he’s not standing at all. He’s floating in the freaking air. I can’t make out his features; his image is too distorted through the flames. Red flames. Deep, angry red. The color of congealing blood. The color of my dreams.
Only, this is real and I’m not dying.
Am I? I’m weak, so weak, and only growing weaker.
Crap! Crap, crap, crap. What did the journal passage say before? Two kinds of fire. One destroys, one purifies. Obviously, the red destroys. But what else, what else?
Covered, covered, covered. Yes. Right. Darkness can only cover light. So, if red represents dark and white represents light, dynamis might still be inside me, simply covered. If I can uncover it, I can stop this.
My limbs shake as more and more energy seeps out of me. Just how am I supposed to uncover the white flames?
Frantic, I try dismissing thanatos...it crackles, spreads and sings, soon blistering every inch of me.
“Milla!” Ali’s voice is filtered through the same tunnel. And like Gavin, she’s floating several feet in the air. She’s curled into herself and clutching at her ears, as if she’s battling the worst kind of pain.
I’m doing this? I’m hurting her? Hurting Gavin?
Crap! There’s a third body in the air. I’m hurting Bronx, too?
I have to stop, now, now, freaking now, but the more I fight the flames, willing them to go away, the hotter and higher they grow. What should I do? What the hell should I do? I stumble to my body to brush spirit against flesh. In an instant, the two halves of me are joined—but it only makes things worse. My body goes up in flames, too. My skin remains unharmed but my clothes burn to ash, leaving me bare-ass naked.
The cell phone flops to the ground, the plastic already charred, the screen melted. I whimper. Now I’ll die without knowing what Frosty said in his message.
And oh, wow, that’s my first thought? Really? I’m freaking naked! Hurting people.
I’m so messed up. A menace of the highest order. “Help,” I shout. “Help!”
Wait. What if other slayers come in here, and I hurt them, too?
“No! Don’t help!”
“What’s going on?” a new voice proclaims. Jaclyn maybe.
“You have to leave,” I scream at her. “Please. I can’t control it.”
Bees sting my neck. No, not bees. More darts? A cool rush of liquid spills through me, fatigue fast on its heels. My knees tremble and collapse, but even when I land, I don’t have the strength to remain upright, so I pitch forward.
Three heavy thuds echo, followed by three grunts of pain.
“How did she do that?” Gavin demands through panting breaths. “What did she do?”
My eyelids weigh ten thousand pounds and I can’t open them.
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