Page 7

Run Girl, Run

AMAIA

Across the room, a phone rang. A sound I hadn’t heard in a week, a sound I never thought I’d hear again. It wasn’t mine. That wasn’t my ringtone. Light brown hair whipped around as golden eyes met my own. It was Sammy’s.

“Answer it,” I said, springing her into action as the shock wore off.

The book she’d been reading fell off her lap, the thud waking Harley from a deep sleep. Both of us watched Sammy answer cautiously.

“Hello,” her voice trembled. “Mom?”

The scene changed. Sammy faced me, an eager look on her face as she tried to contain her excitement for my sake. She hadn’t asked, hadn’t needed to, to know that there was no word from Sloan and my family was gone. That I didn’t have a refuge the way she did; I no longer had a home to go back to. Not an apartment. Not to my parents. Just her and Harley.

“Ready?” she asked, pulling her keys from her pocket, ready to lock the door for a reason we weren’t quite sure of.

If someone really wanted to get in, they could. We had no idea what life had turned into outside the walls and the safety of the place we’d hidden in. Simpletons, waiting for news about the state of our country or any plans to recover from this mess. We could see a sliver of the main street from her apartment window, but it wasn’t pretty. Few people wandered out on the street and the ones that did … well, we often heard them screaming shortly after. Whether it was people or those things outside, we weren’t sure and we definitely weren’t trying to find out.

Sammy never saw them coming, but I did. They were fast. Too fast for the elderly couple we had known through the few years she had lived here. The same sweet old couple who had asked us to keep it down late nights. Bribing our silence with leftovers, an attempt to put us into a food induced coma. I’d spent many weekends away from school, coming back to check on my best friend.

One second she was next to me, ready to see what the world had left to offer us. Smiling. Hopeful. Alive. And then she was gone. Her arms swinging wildly, trying to fight off what she couldn’t see. The shape of an ‘O’ formed on her lips, but no scream left. Her eyes were wide, searching mine for answers.

For help.

Help I could not offer, as their teeth broke the skin of her shoulders and then her neck. Blood splattered against the wall; warm, metallic scented drops flecked against my cheek. Horror rooted me in place, and I waited for my brain to catch up and decide what to do.

The elderly man tore from her shoulder, moving up and latching onto her cheek. Her eyes, the only visible part of her face. I fumbled in my bag for a weapon—anything that I could use—remembering the hunting knives I’d buried at the bottom. The movement drew the attention of the elderly woman, her eyes curiously glancing over me for half a second.

I ran.

My eyes opened, sweat covering my body, stomach clenching. That wasn’t a nightmare, but rather a haunting memory—one I deserved to have for the rest of my life. I rolled over, bile rising in my throat and finding freedom in the industrial carpet beneath me. Wiping the corners of my mouth, I pulled myself up to the edge of the windowsill. I raised a pair of binoculars to my face, scanning the town below as I had for the past twenty-four hours.

Going through a city was my least favorite activity, but I was low on food and the small town outside Salem, Oregon, beckoned me with the promise of finding some. Alcohol lined my stomach more than food did. For some reason, it was easier to come by than an old can of vegetables. That was fine. I could get by on less, but Harley couldn’t. Half of the food I gathered went to her. Hunting was an option, but wasting that energy to not eat the meat myself seemed like an unnecessary effort.

I laughed to myself, thinking of how my father would make a snide remark about the end of the world, and I still let my conscience control my eating habits. Driving a knife through a human skull, no problem. But actively hunting and preparing the meat of an animal capable of forming complex thoughts? Absolutely not. So canned food and a distilled beverage it was. Harley wasn’t picky and caught enough small game to sustain herself more times than not.

My own health didn’t matter. I no longer cared about myself. Simply wanted to make sure Harley lived. She was all I had left. I’d never considered myself a materialistic person, but damn, did I miss my things. My books, cozy blankets, my coffee machine. Oh, to have a cup of coffee . My mouth watered. Music. I hadn’t expected to miss music or even TV Most of my free time was spent reading, and if I wasn’t reading, I was listening to an audiobook in the car, in the shower, or as I cleaned.

Sushi, good lord I missed sushi. I missed my life, my friends. Sloan , I wondered, letting my mind drift to my friend from university. Flame encased my body as my thoughts drifted toward the people I knew were gone. People I’d have to miss forever. My parents. Xavier. Sammy. The latter two losses would be a source of self-hatred for the rest of my life. My own inaction being the reason they’d never live another day.

Only one life depended on me now, and I’d be damn sure to keep her alive. The fire surrounding me died down under focus. Several buildings had succumbed to my flames in the process of figuring out my triggers and I still didn’t have them completely under control.

What happened after the bombs went off two months ago wasn’t clear. I didn’t travel in groups. Any information I’d come by had been limited, knowledge gained from spying or hiding and overhearing. Three things were clear, however. I wasn’t alone. You could be gifted with things other than fire, and if you were lucky the way I was, you could have the gift of more than one.

But there were also people who weren’t lucky. I’d observed them from afar and studied them up close, but there hadn’t been any outward similarities. No one else had determined a cause for their demise, either.

It wasn’t a transferable disease. Their bites wouldn’t cause you to be infected, though they hurt like hell. Pansies , I’d heard a few groups call them. No rhyme or reason to it, someone had mentioned. A name that had stuck.

To me, it just felt fitting. They were fast and strong, but their bones were frail—easy to pierce—and their movements wild and uncoordinated.

I gathered our belongings, confident in my decision to leave after not having seen much movement throughout the streets over the last day. There were a few Pansies straggling around, but nothing we couldn’t dodge. We’d finessed our way through far worse these past few months.

Five minutes later, I was forced to swallow my words. Sticking to the sides of the buildings and keeping my eyes up and around, a small cluster of Pansies from inside the windowless storefront escaped my radar. Harley barked in alarm. A hand closed in on her tail, dragging her toward the broken glass and inside the building.

Huffing a sigh, I drew my knife from the holster at my hip. A physical fight was exactly what I needed to relieve the tension building up beneath my skin. The emotions from my restless sleep craved release. Six quick and efficient movements later, and they were down. The blade of my knife entered their skulls with what would once have been a sickening wet slush. I could have ended them in three, but there was something poetic about even numbers. Smearing their rust-colored blood across my pants, I gave Harley a pat on the head. My eyes scanned the length of her body, checking for injuries but finding none.

Placing my knife back at my side, I removed the glass bottle from my bag. Holding my tongue out, I savored the bitter taste of the last drop as I shook the bottle, making sure none went to waste. A sharp laugh scared the shit out of me. Clearing my throat with little recognition. It was hard to accept this pathetic state. I dropped the bottle, head motioning for Harley to get moving again.

“We’ve got places to be and food to find, my girl,” I sang out, riding the high of putting two down with little effort. Music, I need music . It was tactically stupid, but I didn’t care, a false sense of invincibility clouded my judgment.

We made it to the next alleyway before a hand covered my mouth, preventing the next words from flowing and sealing my breath. Harley growled, a few quick warning barks unleashed as she latched onto the culprit’s leg.

Cold metal jabbed into my neck as a man whispered into my ear, “Call the dog off, or I’ll kill you.”

He paused, and I calmed my movements, deciding kicking back toward him wouldn’t help my situation. “If I die, she’ll kill you,” I said, gasping for air.

Strong hands grabbed on my shoulders, twisting me around to face him. I studied him; he was older. His face was kind, but weathered, hair gray and fine lines creasing the skin near catlike eyes. Panic set in as I took in his size, and my flames claimed my fists in defense.

He was over a foot taller than me, the muscle in his build making what was sure to be an extra-large shirt appear as an extra-small. He had either roided up before this, or had been given an edge on survival after. Probably both .

In the days I’d spent observing from tall structures in the cities I passed through, I’d noticed an increase in unusually large people. Some you could tell had already been of substantial size before, either naturally or through enhancers. Others were clumsy. Uncoordinated and not used to their now long limbs or what was likely heightened senses if the size of their nose and eyes were any indication of additional mutations.

The advantage had escaped me, keeping me at the five foot two I was before. I fixed my stance, ready to put additional distance between us, as he interrupted. He put his hands up as if offering peace, face grimaced at Harley still clamped onto his skin, awaiting my next command.

“I’m trying to—” he hissed in pain. “I’m trying to save you, child. There’s a group of men a few blocks away. They won’t be as pleasant as I am.”

I scowled at him. “Bullshit.”

Shifting my weight, I raised my hand, still wrapped in flame as I peered behind my shoulder toward the street, then back at him. There was sincerity behind his gaze. My gut told me he was telling the truth, at least about the men.

I doused my flames, calling Harley off, a groan following in relief.

“I’m not a fool,” I grumbled. “This isn’t so much about saving the two of us as it is about saving yourself. My singing was just drawing attention to your location.”

His eyes narrowed at my accusation. “I can do both at the same time. It’s human nature to work together to survive. Not everyone in this world is out to get you.”

“Likely though,” I chuckled, voice laced in sarcasm.

The rumble of a motorcycle sounded, followed by the murmur of voices, a rough male voice ordering a group to spread out. The large man extended an arm, pushing us into the shadows as I pulled my gun, finding security in something I’d been trained to use efficiently. With certainty.

He shook his head. “No. It’s too loud, the noise will attract the others. More of them than possible for us to take down fighting.”

I grinned, ready to test out the next best option—throwing knives. I’d been practicing for some time, finding them easier to control than the unpredictable flames, meeting my target each time. There was little effort on my end and I didn’t have anyone to teach me the correct form. Just had to go with what felt right, but it worked. Both palms tightening on the helm of the knives, I took in a deep breath as the motorcycle passed us.

One breath out. A breath in. Another breath out.

The engine of the motorcycle revved, closing back in on our location. I closed my eyes, and the sound stopped as the engine cut off. Another breath in, and my blades flew through the air, entering near his jugular and clearing straight through his neck.

Harley lunged forward, her jaw secured around his wrist as she dragged him toward the alleyway, synchronizing her movements with me, pulling his bike out of view. I froze. The man hadn’t moved. Instead, he watched, studying me. An expression of horror filling the kind features of his face.

“You’re too young to know violence like this,” he whispered. I wasn’t even sure he’d known he’d said the words out loud.

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable under his gaze. “Way of the world now. Do what you have to, to survive.”

“It shouldn’t have to be that way.”

Wishful thinking never got anyone far, I’d wanted to say, but was cut off by the sound of voices nearing closer, searching for a friend they’d have to spend forever missing now too. The only difference being, they’d have the opportunity to kill what had ended the life of someone they loved. They’d be rightful to do so. There were moments I’d wish I could myself, but I couldn’t. Wasn’t strong enough to, or weak enough to. Whatever . Instead, I did what I did best.

I ran.