Moonlit Retribution

Chapter Eighteen

He levels an irritated, dry glare at her as he shoves the trailer up and rotates it back in the general direction of Rigs. “Or maybe,” he says through clenched teeth, “something simple like, we went back to the acid pit to get Dev’s body and Andy fell in. Not everything has to be complicated.”

“Do you honestly think they’re going to fall for that? No pun intended, of course.”

“Do you honestly have a better idea?" he shoots back.  "Either way, he’s dead, and if the rest of them found out that we killed him--”

“Excuse me, we? Unless if you’ve somehow managed to asexually reproduce, there is no we in this business.”

I watch the two argue for several more minutes, my eyes flicking back and forth as if I’m watching a tennis match instead of two boneheads squabbling like belligerent old women.

How can they so easily overlook the fact that our leader is dead? That the man that took us all in, fed us, clothed us, protected us--some of them since the very beginning--is gone, along with all the benefits? Without Andy, we’d probably be able to make his systems work--the greenhouse and windmill and the generators, all that stuff--but the figurehead of our hope, our stubborn clutch on life, will be gone. I mean, he was an ass to me, but I know that a lot of people in the complex look up to him like a father or some divinity. Worse than that, Mella’s right. Because of his savior status, the complex’s inhabitants aren’t going to take a simple “oh, he just fell into a trap” as a viable reason for his death. They know Andy’s not that stupid, that he’d never be out on Rigs’s turf by himself--and really, the only way this story would work is if we claimed that he had been alone. Mella, Rí jez, and I would be pegged just as guilty if we had been there and had been unable to do anything. That’s just how our tiny society works.

But, like Ríjez, I don’t see what else we can do.

I’ve been clenching my fists at my side. The blood on the outside of my hands is mostly dry, but the inner parts of my fingers are still warm, wet with the liquid, filling the lines of my palms, filling the spaces under my nails. I should be disgusted. To some extent I am, but for the most part, all I feel is…this…hunger.

Jesus Christ!

Violently, I shake my head, as if this simple movement will drive out the horrid feeling. I hastily push past Mella and Ríjez and head for the trailer, trying my best to ignore the fact that there are freaking bodies on it, and begin dragging it myself. “Are you two just about done? Some help would be appreciated.”

This catches them slightly off guard. I suppose my lack of vocal participation really was as noticeable as Andy said. With raised eyebrows and skeptic expressions, they reluctantly take positions around the trailer, and we begin the half hour trek towards the pit.

Mella is strangely silent, and I bask in the absence of bickering to try to calm my racing thoughts by viewing the scenery. Rows upon rows of dead, silent trees swaying in the blustery breeze, back lighted by the muted gray-yellow glow of dawn. The sky is a single slab of cloud, no breaks for the sun to peak out from.

Hey, now there’s a thought. If the clouds are incredibly thick on some days, does that make it possible for the zombies to come out?

No, idiot. They only come out fully zombified on new moons. We’ve established this as fact.

And that little girl was just your run-of-the-mill Girl Scout. Right.

Mella glances my way when I growl in frustration at my own thoughts. I wave off her rare expression of concern and once more try to think of nothing. But the mix of dead scenery and the paradox of such non-thoughts keeps my mind in a frenzy until my sticky hands are twitching on the frigid metal of the trailer’s tongue. The true severity of the situation settles over me like a cloud of angry mosquitoes, buzzing a droning hum of guilt that is impossible to ignore.

“We’re going to have to run,” Ríjez says unexpectedly, as if reading my anxious thoughts. “They won’t believe us, and even if they initially go along with it, they’ll start looking. They’ll kill us.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mella hisses in aggravation. “We aren’t that expendable; I’m their only sane doctor, after all--”

“Do you really think they’ll care about that? They’ll want blood, Mel. And if that blood happens to come from their ‘only sane doctor,’ then so be it.”

Mella chuckles dryly, shaking the hair out of her eyes. “Yes, you lot are a bunch of mindless brutes, I suppose.”

My stomach clenches with nerves. “Could we just not talk about it?” I plead. Whatever contents I have in my stomach are churning, bubbling upwards in my esophagus. I try to breathe deeply, calm myself, but the feeling doesn’t dissipate. And when I bring my hands up to cover my mouth, I really do puke when the rancid scent of decaying blood hits my nose. With nasty liquid seeping through my fingers, I stumble away into the brown, withered vegetation at the edge of the path and fall to my knees, heaving acidic bile. My stomach and chest feel tight, heavy, and I feel downright miserable. The burn in my throat is so intense that it makes tears well in in my eyes.

At some point I must completely fall over, because when I open my eyes, the world is sideways. And smelly.

Someone is rubbing my back soothingly as a pair of worn brown boots shuffles impatiently in front of me.

“Will you relax?” Ríjez hisses to Mella. “See how this has already taken a toll on her?”

Mella snorts. “If she can’t handle a little blood--that you spilled, I might mention--then that’s her problem…and apparently yours, by default.” She sighs impatiently, and when I roll my eyes skyward, I see her staring down at me with unfathomable and quite abnormal worry, hands fisted on her hips. I blink and slowly roll my head on the dry grass. Even this small movement sends the scenery spinning. Ríjez gently pulls me away from my barf pile. I try to croak out a thank you, but I’m still too horrified and now greatly confused at Mella’s obvious anxiety to verify if it came out or not.

“It’s gonna be okay, kiddo,” Ríjez croons softly. Mella snorts, but at least she has the decency to keep her comments to herself. Not that I don’t already know that it won’t be okay. It’s just nice to pretend sometimes. “I promise.”

This is ridiculous. Here he is with a freaking alien plague overrunning his system, and I’m curled up on the ground, writhing in misery after he has, once again, saved my life. Only now does it occur to me that I’ve been acquiring quite the life debt on this adventure.  I just hope to God I'll be able to repay him, and soon.

Late and short, as usual.  Damn it all.