B.C. Johnson - Deadgirl

I pretended to be a tough nurse from a medical drama, but mostly I wanted to yak.

I grabbed Morgan’s arm and shook it, hoping for a reaction but receiving none. I didn’t think it worked like that—just shut off the juice and all better , but maybe I was hoping for it. I leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“I love you, honey,” I said. “I’m gonna fix this. I promise.”

I knew she could see me, from the windows of the train car in that Grey place. Or at least, I hoped she could. I didn’t want to think of those horrible, slouching monsters catching up to them. Were they locked in those very train cars right then, watching twisting corpses slam their fists against the steel like some bad zombie movie?

I ran my hand over my face and wondered if they were looking through Zack’s windows too, in that faraway Grey land. Would they be able to tell me what I was walking in to? Probably. I could picture Puck and Zack and Morgan, staring in horror as I walked into an ambush. Then again, can you call it an ambush, when you see it coming? Or is that just suicide?

I squeezed my best friend’s hand again, and left her room. I didn’t even tuck the stun gun back into my coat. Instead, I flipped it in my hand and tucked it tight to my wrist. No point in giving away everything, right?

I checked the second room, but the lights were off. The third room was lit. I sneaked up to the door and peered inside the window. Zack, looking very…well, Zack-like, lying in his bed. He looked pretty tan against the white of the pillow and the hospital gown, and I realized I needed to hang out with less attractive people. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of panic at seeing him so…helpless.

I sneaked into his room, a little bit surprised to not be immediately jumped by Abraham. The bête-noire filled my head with bowel-shaking ugly fear, but I was keeping a handle on it. Still, he should be so close…

I tried to put that out of my mind, and went to Zack’s bedside. There was clear evidence of family members—flowers, purses, extra blankets and empty Coke cans. Why they weren’t in the room, I had no idea. The idea of them all leaving to go to the bathroom or hit the cafeteria seemed a little far-fetched. Was Abraham trying to clear out the civilians? How nice of him.

But that meant I had even less time, if Abraham was so ready for me.

I repeated the same steps I’d used on Morgan, and freed the IV needle with a similar splash of bright red blood. I held his hand, trying to stem the flow, staring into his closed eyes. The handsome, square line of his jaw. The dark hair, the spikey front deflated a little, lying over his brow. I brushed it out of his face, trailing my fingers down across his cheek. Something warm sparked inside of me, and calm tears put a sheen over the world. He could see me, I thought, from the train car. Maybe he was seeing me for the last time.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t just stay dead, like everybody else. I’m sorry you’re here. God…”

I put my hands on his shoulders and laid my head on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart, the shallow rise and fall of his chest lulled me, wanted to draw me down. This close to him, I couldn’t smell hospital anymore—just him. Just Zack.

I heard a noise, and it ripped me out of the moment. I spun around, leaping off the bed, and stared at the tiny square window.

Mom. Her eyes wide, staring at me. Oh no.

I ran for the door and threw it open.

It happened fast. I suppose that’s the only way it could have happened.

I jumped out of the room, but as I did, the air seemed to shimmer and distort, like looking over a campfire. Mom disappeared—just flicked away, like a cheesy effect in a bad movie. The hallway darkened, too, and my eyes tried to adjust to the shifting scenery. Standing in the center of the hallway where there had been nothing but air, was Abraham.

Dizziness swept over me, and I hesitated. Abraham, still draped in immaculate white doctor’s clothes, moved like a blur and wrapped his arms around me. I screamed and felt a wave of heat burn my skin, like I’d just bear-hugged an oven. I let out a choking gasp, tried to fight, tried to struggle, but he was a rock. Pulsing rings of light tore out of his body, flickering the darkened room like a strobe light. Each pulse that swept over me weakened my resolve, filling me with warmth and light and happiness.

He was made of happiness, radiated it. Everything I had ever wanted…they could be mine. Just let go, the warmth told me. Let it all go. My knees weakened and buckled, but Abraham held me up. Wouldn’t let me fall. My head slumped—my cheek fell against his chest. I breathed in his scent and closed my eyes.

“Lucy!”

My eyes opened. I felt light…like I might just float away.

“Lucy!”

It wasn’t easy to see, both because of the pulsing light and because my eye lids just…didn’t…want to…open. When I managed to turn my thousand-pound head a little, I saw Zack, on his bed, tearing at the tubes sprouting from his right arm. Zack, rolling to a crouch on his bed. Zack, diving at me and Abraham like a handsome cruise missile.

He knocked us both down and out the door, and my shoulder cracked hard against the tile floor. A tidal wave of cold pain raced up my arm, and I screamed and rolled away from them. I clutched at my shrieking shoulder, and as I did, I realized the excruciating pain had lifted some of the fog. Well that, and the fact that Abraham was no longer holding me in a death grip, filling me with his…whatever-the-hell it was.

I dug in my pocket as I rolled—only seeing Abraham and Zack out of the corner of my eye. Finally, my hand closed over the little plastic stun gun, and I whipped it out of my pocket. I crawled to my knees and looked up.

I saw Abraham kneeling, holding Zack by his throat. No, that’s impossible…Zack looked, physically, like he could snap Abraham in two. He outweighed him by a good forty pounds, at least. Zack’s muscles were toned, and he was at least three inches taller than Abraham. And Zack fought. Even as Abraham began to stand, holding Zack at arm’s length like he was stuffed with feathers, Zack swung his arms like a jackhammer, raining blows down on Abraham’s face. He jerked and cursed and spit with each punch, but they weren’t doing the damage they should have. Abraham looked like an annoyed pedestrian in a driving rain rather than a man in a brawl.

I raced across the hallway and buried the stun gun’s metal fangs deep into Abraham’s back and squeezed the trigger. Blue arcs raced through the gun, and it shrieked its tac-tac-tac-tac-tac through the empty hallway.

Abraham arched his back and roared, his hand spasming and dropping Zack, who hit the tile floor like a sack full of potatoes. I held down the trigger, grabbed Abraham’s shoulder, and forced him against the wall. For a brief, terrified second I wondered if touching Abraham would zap me too—this proved not to be the case, another movie myth zipping past my head. I jammed my forearm into his back, slamming his face up against the wall, and kept the stun gun firing.

He jerked and sputtered under the shock, and for one brief moment I wondered if it would be possible to kill the bastard. But the longer I held the trigger, the more he began to fight. He pushed at the wall, weakly at first, but gaining strength. Zack made it to one knee, gasping for air, both hands cradling his throat.

“Dammit,” I whispered between gritted teeth, and tried to reach into my coat for the other weapon.

As soon as I took my pinning arm off of Abraham’s back, he bucked like a mule. I held the stun gun as tight as I could, and it lifted only an inch off of his coat, but that was all he needed. He spun, and with what looked like a casual one-arm push, flung me across the hallway. My back hit the wall and blew all the air out of me, and I landed in a tangle on the tile.