THE next day Teacup is due to finally get rid of her sling. I walk with her to Dr. Pam's room after breakfast. She doesn't say much, yawning every five minutes. I know why.
Teacup had a nightmare last night. A really vivid one, from what her screams suggested. It wasn't until Oompa and Dumbo had dragged her out of her top bunk and she was sitting beside me that she calmed down.
No one had asked any questions. It's obvious what she was dreaming about from the way her tears soaked the collar of her night shirt and the way her quivering lips kept calling for her mother.
We wait in the uncomfortable plastic chairs in Dr. Pam's office in silence. She sniffles every now and then, keeping her arm close to her. I feel like I should say something, but I don't know what. Even if I did know, I doubt I would say it. Croak doesn't comfort people.
I lean my head back against the wall. My eyes close and I focus on the subtle ticking of the clock.
I see Zombie, vulnerable and crying, and I force my eyes back open. Somehow that's one of the worst things I've seen and experienced.
I'm not sure if I regret our swapping secrets last night.
Dr. Pam comes in with a smile. "Good morning, ladies." She sets her coffee cup down on a table. "I'll have you fixed up in no time, Teacup. Then you both are supposed to report to Processing and Disposal."
Resisting the urge to let out a major groan, I help Teacup hop up onto the operating table. I watch as Dr. Pam carefully removes the sling and performs various exercises to make sure Teacup's arm has healed.
When she's been cleared, Teacup jumps down without my help. She gives Dr. Pam a brief thanks, antsy to get out the door. I take my leisure time, sending her an odd look. Why the hell is she so eager to get to P&D? Shit's disgusting.
I ask her about it in the hallway. "What's the rush?"
Teacup glances at me out of the corner of her eyes, half a step ahead of me as she charges down the brightly lit corridors. "I'm not in a hurry." She denies, keeping her chin raised. "I just want to keep moving."
"Why?"
She sighs. "I don't know, Croak."
"There has to be a reason."
"I don't want to talk about it."
I roll my eyes. "You're supposed to talk about it, Teacup. You're a little kid. When something's bothering you, you tell someone. That's how it works."
"You don't tell people when you're upset about something."
Well, shit. She's got me there. "...that's 'cause I'm older than you, Teacup. I'm almost an adult."
"But not yet." She insists as we turn a corner. "You're still a kid."
Still a kid. That simple phrase slams into my chest like a heaving mallet onto a gavel.
I don't answer her for a moment, biting my lip. Little kids are hard to put up with. They know more than people let on and can outsmart the best of us with simple logic.
"Yeah, well," I start. I push my ponytail off my shoulder as I struggle to gather words that would've come easier a year ago. "I don't get to act like a kid. I'm the oldest in the squad. I need to act like it. I can't dump everything on everyone."
"I want to be like you!" Teacup snaps. "I want to be tough! Don't try to be my friend; just leave me alone."
We arrive at the hanger designated for P&D. I scoff at her sentence as we collect our biohazard gear. "Don't try to be like me," I growl. "Be yourself." I shove my legs into the ugly-ass yellow pants. "Copycat me and see what happens. I dare you."
This sobers her up a bit. She doesn't say anything for a moment, slipping the nightmare helmet over her head. "You're not fair, Croak." She decides after quiet deliberation. Her voice isn't whiny or hurt, just factual and soft.
"Life's not fair, Teacup." I jam the helmet on my head, squinting through the grimy shield. "Now can we go?"
"You always do this."
I groan and shift my weight to my right foot. "Always do what?"
"Act mean."
"That's because I am mean." I grumble. "Let's go."
"You're not mean to Zombie," she says, little legs quickening their pace to keep up with my frustrated strides.
My jaw clenches. "Teacup, you better not-"
"You like Zombie."
"Watch yourself." I spit.
"You let him be your friend."
"Zombie is not my friend." I say the words without meaning them. "Is this what was bothering you? Because if so, I liked it better when you were trying to be tough."
Teacup sighs and stops walking. We're a few yards away from the entrance to the hanger. I can make out the bulky forms of Squad 53 in the stupid yellow suits at the far side of the room.
I let out a sigh of my own and turn around to face her. "Why'd you stop walking?"
"You want to know why I was upset?" She asks. Her eyes are teary behind the scratched protective shield.
"Not really." I tell her. "But if it'll get you to go inside, tell me everything."
Her lower lip pouts. "I miss my mom." She says. Her voice is full of longing and innocence and is so unlike her normal snark that it touches the cold ice surrounding my heart.
I don't let it get to me. Seeing Teacup act her age is another chink in my rapidly crumpling armor. I can't let her know that. "We all miss our moms, Teacup." I recite carefully. I don't want her to cry. God, do not let her cry.
"I know." Her tone is empty. "But it still hurts."
"Yeah," I say lamely, because I don't know what else to say.
She sniffles. "That's all." Her eyes are trained on her borrowed biohazard boots, watching as the right toe nudges the left one. Suddenly, her head jerks up to look at me with steely brown eyes. "Don't tell anyone."
"I won't." I promise.
Teacup watches me closely. "Not even Zombie," she says.
A deep breath. "Teacup, Zombie isn't-"
"Don't lie." She cuts me off. "I'm tired of lying. Just... don't tell him."
I grimace. "Fine." I go to rub the bridge of my nose but am met with annoying gear. "Whatever. Can we go inside now?"
She doesn't answer me, just steps around me and marches in, every bit of the warrior princess she tends to be. I sigh and follow her in.
Teacup goes to be with Oompa. He gestures towards her arm and she makes a show of moving it around so he can see she's all right. The urge to smile tugs at the corner of my lips. I quickly turn away and meet up with Flintstone.
"How's she doing?" He asks, nodding towards Teacup while digging around in some dead dude's pockets.
I take one more look at her – she's laughing at Oompa, and Poundcake is also sporting a small grin – and then turn back to him. "What's it look like?" I take the once-valuable items he passes to me and sort them into their respective bins. "Kid's tough. She's fine."
"She good to go tomorrow?" He asks, meaning our physical training. Knuckle pushups 'til you drop, baby.
I look up from the bins at him, seeing genuine concern on his face. "Yeah," I say slowly. Ever since Tank's been gone, he's been a little more likeable. It's almost as if he doesn't feel the need to be a bossy jackass.
No one has mentioned Tank since he left. It's almost like he never even existed – except for the new-and-improved Flintstone and the empty bunk and the small stain on the corner of the bunk that refuses to be completely clean no matter how hard you scrub.
Nugget waddles over, waiting to be given the clothes. Flintstone strips the body and unlaces the shoes.
Meanwhile, I'm searching for a certain someone that is usually near-unbearably clingy. I don't even have to ask where he is; I find him faster than I would've thought possible, considering we're all dressed alike and his back is to me.
Zombie is standing beside Dumbo at one of the dissection tables. I vaguely remember Dumbo telling me that he wanted to be a medic. During P&D now, he cuts open a few select corpses to learn human anatomy and all that jazz.
But there's no dissecting going on. Zombie and Dumbo are staring down at a body, whispering back and forth to one another. Zombie's nodding. Then he says something that causes Dumbo to almost jump back, like Zombie is completely whack and is going to go off on a killing rampage. I think the term "Dorothy" is used here when that happens.
What...
"Croak."
I blink, tearing my gaze from the odd pair to face Flintstone. He's holding out a Rolex expectantly. "Check out your boyfriend some other time." He snaps, tossing the watch to me. "We've got work to do."
I raise an eyebrow. There goes the tolerable Flintstone. "He's not my boyfriend," I say coolly.
"Oh, isn't he?"
"No, he's not." I snatch the wallet from Flintstone's hands. "It shouldn't matter to you either way. It's none of your business."
"You make it squad business when you two parade around in front of everyone like we're the damn Brady Bunch."
I snort. "I don't think you're jolly enough to be on the Brady Bunch, buddy."
Flintstone shoves the table slightly, causing the body on it to slide and bump my hips. "Always with the damn wise-cracks, Croak."
"Why are you getting so angry?" I demand, shoving the table back just as hard. The arm falls off and brushes his thigh. "Just chill out."
"Like you?" He asks rhetorically. "Be cold like you?" He shakes his head. "Do you even care that Tank's gone?"
Damn, what is it today with people getting on my case about expressing emotion? "Of course I care!" I hiss as I lean across the table. "But I'm not going to mope around over a guy who pointed a gun at my head."
His face drops. "That wasn't him," he says forlornly. The previous anger has drained from his eyes. "That wasn't Tank. If you had known him..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I wave my hand dismissively. "I'd be boo-hooing on your shoulder."
Flintstone flinches slightly. It's barely noticeable, but I pick it up.
I crossed a line. But Croak does that. It's who Croak is. I shouldn't feel remorse for it, right?
I don't offer an apology or even a sympathetic glance. I just watch him blankly as he grabs his stuff and walks over to the other station, switching out with Poundcake. "I can't deal with her anymore."
Well you shouldn't have brought up the forbidden topic of Tank, asshole.
And you shouldn't try to talk to me about Zombie.
Nobody should talk to me about Zombie.
Poundcake doesn't say anything, just gathers his belongings and comes to work with me. He is always quiet. I've never heard the guy talk. Part of me wonders if he even can.
I don't ask him, though. We've all got our ways with coping. I become belligerent. Nugget cries himself to sleep. Poundcake stays silent.
___
"YOU wanna tell me what happened with Flint?"
I sigh and roll my eyes. "Nothing important."
"You sure?" Zombie looks at me over his fists. "'Cause he seems pretty upset. Like, he's being more of a dick than usual." He strikes out; I bat his blow away. "And I think Teacup might kill him."
I snort. "Let her."
He presses his lips into a line. I bet it's to keep from smiling. His eyes are sparkling when he says, "You know I can't."
"Pity." I throw a punch that he ducks beneath. "What was up with you and Dumbo today?"
"What do you mean?" A falter in his side-step that leaves my leg grazing the side of his thigh.
"I mean," I pant as I slap away a palm-heel. "Why did he look at you like you were going crazy during P&D?" I narrowly dodge an elbow-strike as he moves closer. "And what the hell were you doing over at the dissection tables anyway?"
Zombie huffs as I slip underneath his arm and dance behind him. "Sounds like you were watching me pretty closely today." He grins and bites his lower lip, letting his arms fall to his sides as he waits for my response.
I roll my eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just observant."
"Uh-huh." He sweeps his leg, nearly knocking me off my feet. I clutch his shoulders, relying solely on his sturdy frame to keep me up. Zombie's hands land on my waist to help me catch my balance. Even when I've become steady, he keeps them there, warm and large, searing through my thin clothing.
I can feel my heart in my chest, demanding to be let out so it can go where it wants. I don't move. I'm not even sure if I'm breathing. I focus on Zombie's collarbone, where the silver chain dangles down and produces a small bump underneath his dark shirt.
"Are you going to tell me or not?" I ask rigidly.
He inclines his head, brown hair drooping in his eyes. "Are you going to tell me?" He asks playfully.
"Mine's not that big of a deal." I force myself to remain level as I stare into his eyes. "Yours seemed like it was."
The joking fades from his face. "Yeah, it kind of is." He nods to himself. Zombie begins to slowly pull away, hands sliding off my body. Without thinking, I reach up and curl my fingers around his forearms, keeping him beside me and his hands on me. His mouth perks up at the corner and his eyebrows raise slightly.
"Don't read into it," I growl, cheeks burning. "Just spit it out already."
Zombie's lips twitch. "Okay, when I said it kind of was a big deal... I might've meant it is actually a pretty big deal."
"Of course it is." I sigh. "Are you saying I should sit down for this?"
"Well-"
My patience wears thin. "Would you just-"
"Dumbo found Tank's body at P&D."
I wasn't expecting that.
I blink, peering at him with slight confusion. "What?" I step back slightly, slipping away from his warmth.
Zombie nods, lips pressed together tightly. "Dumbo got his body for dissection." At my look of horror, he quickly says, "He didn't actually do it! He couldn't. That's... Tank. He couldn't do that to Tank." He shakes his head quickly.
"I thought he was in the Psych ward." I state dully.
"So did I."
"So what happened?"
"I have no idea." Zombie rubs over his mouth. "Dumbo looked over the... Tank's... body. And here's the weird thing-"
"It gets weirder?" I raise an eyebrow.
"He couldn't find anything wrong with it. Tank, I mean. He looked perfectly healthy."
I rub my temples, beginning to pace. What the hell? What could've happened to him? I know he hit his head pretty hard, but surely that wasn't enough to take him out. Did he overdose on drugs? That couldn't have happened, right? The doctors would've been monitoring him closely after a freak episode like the one he had. So how did he die?
I can feel Zombie's eyes on me. I send him a look. He wets his lips. "Your turn." He says softly.
I laugh without humor. "We can't tell Flintstone about this."
"Obviously."
"No, like, seriously. He can't find out about it. He almost lost it today in P&D because he brought him up."
"Shit," Zombie runs his hand over his eyes. It drops back to his side lazily. "Well," he pops his neck. "Tank'll have been incinerated by now. No way Flint will find out as long as we don't tell him."
"No?" I cross my arms. "What'll happen when he asks to see him? Or when he doesn't see Tank reassigned?"
Zombie sighs. "I don't know, Croak. I just don't know. But Tank... he's gone. Officially, now." He mimics my stance. "There's nothing we can do."
I bite my lip. "Nothing we can do," I echo.
Still a kid. Nothing we can do.